


Angel Slayer

by emwebb17



Series: Angel Slayer [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, FBI, Light breath play, Multi, Serial Killers, graphic depictions of crime scenes, mentions but no depictions of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 01:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 138,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18954745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: FBI Special Agent Benson Remick tracked a serial killer dubbed the Angel Slayer for six months in Washington, DC—the murderer was vicious, depraved, carved the names of angels into the victims’ chests…and eluded capture. Eight years later, a murder in small Elton, New Hampshire has too many similarities for Benson to ignore. Paired with a green agent, Jordan Szustakowski, Benson travels to Elton to solve the case that has been haunting him for nearly a decade. In the course of the investigation the agents come across a local police officer named Oska Mercer—who may have a deadly connection to the Angel Slayer.





	1. Akael

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally a Cockles RPS and when I tried to convert it to Destiel, the actors and characters didn't line up well. So, I decided to make it a "non-fandom" work. The name changes are window dressing at best, but the story was always wholly in an alternate universe where none of the actors' families or real histories were referenced outside of a few personality traits.

**Monday, September 16, 2013**

Benson opened his eyes.

Across the room he saw that the IKEA dresser definitely did slant a little to the left.  He moved his eyes to his bedside table.  His alarm clock glowed a green 5:29 back at him.  There was the barely audible click of the device turning on and the radio played a slow beat rock song softly.  The morning radio host wouldn't be on for another twenty minutes with his braying hyena-donkey hybrid laugh.  He moved his eyes back to the dresser.

Why hadn't he been able to see that it was slanted before now?  She'd kept telling him it was.  Why had he argued with her about it?  Why had he picked on her packrat tendencies?  Why had he not liked her cooking?  Why had he asked her to move in with him after only six months?

It had been too soon.  Way too soon.  And yet, the six months since she moved out had felt like an eternity.  Was that because he really missed her?  Or did he just miss the pretty decent, fairly regular sex?  He felt like six months shouldn't seem like a long time to go without sex, but he hadn't had this kind of dry spell since—fuck, since before he lost his virginity.  He might have considered himself a slut if it weren't for the fact that he'd realized a long time ago he didn't have one night stands but one year stands.  He'd date people for prolonged periods, but never tried or even wanted to develop close relationships with any of them.  So why had he tried with her?

The radio switched to a hard, driving Red Hot Chili Peppers song and Benson rolled onto his back.  He was not going to have another one of those maudlin self-reflection mornings.  He realized the only reason he was tempted to was because of the phone call from his parents last night.  His brothers were all happily married with children (his little sister was exempt since she was only twenty-four though their mother worried about her too), but apparently being thirty-two and having nothing to show for it except a successful career that he enjoyed and was damn good at was not enough to make him _really_ happy.  Only a spouse and children could give a person complete fulfillment in life.  Benson frowned.  He wondered how many more centuries it would take before that bullshit philosophy was completely debunked.

By now he had wondered into the bathroom and relieved himself and was resting his hands on the porcelain pedestal sink and after washing them.  He stared into the mirror, finding nothing unfamiliar about his fine features, clear green eyes, and close-cropped dark blond hair.  He heaved a sigh.  Well, that took care of the "What am I doing with my life?" portion of the day.

Benson sought solace in his routine.  Coffee, brush teeth, shower, get dressed, clip handcuffs in holder to belt, check clip in service weapon, holster gun, holster Blackberry, recheck weapon, re-holster gun, put credentials in left suit jacket pocket, put lanyard with work badge around neck, pour leftover coffee into travel mug, lock door, unlock door, retrieve gym bag since he had brought it home over the weekend to wash his smelly gym clothes, lock door, go to parking garage, go back upstairs, unlock door, check already turned off coffee machine, lock door, check that door is locked, back to parking garage, bang head on roof of car as realize forgot car keys upstairs.

If only he could say that this was just one of "those" days—this was every fucking day.

 

Benson made the turn onto G Street to access the garage on the north side of the Washington Field Office building.  He smiled at the guards and waved his badge in front of the scanner to activate the barrier in front of the ramp to drop.  He drove slowly down the ramp and around the sharp, blind corners having to go to the third level before finding a parking space that wouldn't require double parking.  He still left the doors unlocked and the keys on the dash just in case.

By the time he was on the elevator on his way to the fourth floor, he'd mostly forgotten about the crappy start to his morning and was running down the mental list of the cases he needed to do progress checks on.  He also needed to make a final attempt to contact a source that had been reluctant as of late to continue his duties.

The elevator stopped on the ground floor to pick up a rather bedraggled looking woman who was struggling to keep her hands on her badge, her bag, her coffee cup, and her dripping umbrella.  The metro was only a short walk from the building, but if the rain was heavy enough it could seem like a much longer one, especially if one was wearing heels.  The woman shuffled onto the elevator and cursed quietly as her coffee sloshed out of the broken plastic lid and onto her shirt.  Benson tried to stand as inconspicuously as possible in the back corner of the elevator and the woman punched the button for the seventh floor like it had murdered her entire family.  She was probably an analyst and since only agents were allowed to park in the garage, that left poor creatures like her to juggle their possessions on the metro and combat the weather conditions with what looked like a very small, mostly bent out of shape purple polka dotted umbrella—and then keep the ungainly armfuls out of the way as she had to badge through three sets of doors.  She didn't look like she was enjoying her morning exercises.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor and Benson scooted off quickly so as not to hold up the woman any longer on her harrowing journey to her desk.  He took the exit out of the elevator bank to his left and walked past the cubicles of the other criminal squads before reaching the back corner where CR-2 made their home.  He was the first to arrive and the overhead lights flickered on when the motion detectors picked him up.  He set his gym bag on the floor next to his chair and bent over his desk to jiggle the mouse on his computer to wake it up.  As he was typing in his password a chair rolled into his space and a voice said, "Morning, Benson!"

"Jesus Christ!"

Benson started violently, his finger hitting the enter key too early and the computer beeped that he had entered the wrong password.  Benson turned around and saw the newest agent on their squad grinning at him.

"Jordan," Benson said calmly.  "Where the fuck did you come from?"

"I just got back from the gym."

Benson noticed his wet hair for the first time.  He probably should have noticed it earlier; it made it look longer than it was when it was dry—which was already on the longish side considering he was an agent, but appearance rules were rarely enforced.  Benson glanced at his watch: 6:51.

"What time did you get here this morning?"

Jordan shrugged a shoulder.  "Five-thirty."

Benson blinked at him.  "You know, fit time is built into our work schedules.  You don't have to work out before or after hours."

"I know.  And sometimes I do that too."

Benson made a disgusted face and tuned back to try his password again.  Even wearing a suit it was pretty obvious that Jordan was built like every clichéd comparison to Greek gods that existed.  And Benson had seen him out of that suit and in his gym clothes—sweaty and extra toned from his workout.  If he didn't have such a puppy-like personality Benson might have been tempted to do something about it, but as it was the kid was just too much like a little brother.  He was only four years younger, but he'd been in the Bureau for two years compared to Benson's nine and that just made him seem like he was much younger.  Plus Jordan had only transferred to CR-2 from the Cyber Division three months ago.  He was a total noob, not completely jaded yet, and still eager to please his seniors.  Fortunately his intelligence wasn't limited to all things technical and Benson was already impressed with his sharp intuition.

Benson was so wrapped up in his warring inappropriate thoughts about someone he viewed more like a brother than a potential hook-up and typed in his old password.  The computer beeped at him.

"Fuck."

One more try and he'd be locked out and have to call stupid computer services to reset his password.

"So, Benson—"

"Hush, hush, hush," Benson murmured and concentrated on his password.  Finally his desktop began to load.  He turned back to Jordan who was waiting patiently and not at all offended at being shushed.  "Yes?"

"I've got requalification coming up next month, so I was wondering if you'd want to go to the range with me sometime this week."

Benson took a moment to think about his completely open social calendar.  "Yeah, I could do that.  I'm free this weekend."

Jordan grinned.  "Great.  Oh, yeah.  After you left on Friday, we got an e-mail about the DNI briefing that's coming up—apparently it's our squad's turn or something.  And the deadline for the threat assessment reports got pushed up a week."

Benson frowned at Jordan with all the displeasure he could muster.  Not because he knew he was going to get stuck with preparing the briefing.  And not because the IA’s on his squad were going to kick his ass later if he didn't get them the info they needed to complete their reports on time.  He frowned because this little shit had left after him on Friday and still showed up before him on Monday.

"Jordan, you need a girlfriend."

Jordan laughed.  "Don't I know it, man.  You know anyone you could set me up with?"

Benson crossed his arms and looked up as he went through the list of females he knew.  He was halfway through his never-slept-with-acquaintances when Jordan cleared his throat.

"Is it really that in depth of a decision?"

"Yes.  I know a lot of people.  What are you looking for?  Date material or a hook-up?"

"At this point?  Either."

Benson harrumphed and narrowed his eyes.  "So, you're saying I shouldn't set you up with my sister?"

"Definitely not.  Not that I would treat her poorly or disrespect her, but no way am I dating a colleague's sister.  Let alone yours."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've heard the rumors, Benson."

"What rumor—" Benson scoffed in annoyance.  "I swear, you punch—are _rumored_ to have punched—one SSA for ogling your baby sister and all of sudden you have a reputation as an overprotective big brother."

Jordan laughed and used his feet to twist his chair back and forth.  "Mm-hmm.  Is that the reason you transferred to counterintelligence?"

Benson's growing good mood dissipated just like that.  He kept his smile in place though.

"No.  I just transferred because I'd been in criminal for three years and thought I needed a change."

"What made you decide to come back?"

Benson laughed softly.  "Do you have any idea of how unsatisfying counterintelligence is?  You can't arrest anybody.  Most of your time is spent trying to figure out their little cat and mouse games and who're they're playing them with.  At most you get a PNG, but then that country just PNG's one of our own in retaliation.  I like criminal because I like getting the bad guys and making them go to jail."

"You didn't want to do counterterrorism?"

Benson shrugged.  "There weren't any openings when I decided to transfer out a couple years ago.  I also prefer criminal to counterterrorism.  Is that where you wanted to go?"

"Honestly I just took the first opening there was.  Turns out I can't compartmentalize as well as I thought."

Benson nodded sympathetically recalling which squad specifically Jordan had come from.

"Well," Jordan said, "I'll let you get caught up on your e-mails.  Don't forget we've got a squad meeting at ten."

Benson made a face.  "Who schedules squad meetings for Mondays?"

"I do, Remick," his SSA griped as he walked past him.

"Morning, Bob."

"Hnn."

Their SSA disappeared behind his cubicle wall and Jordan and Benson grinned at each other.

"Whoops," Benson mouthed silently.

Jordan laughed and rolled his chair back to his own space.

"It is too early for giggling, ladies!" Bob snapped from his corner of grumpiness.

Benson heard Jordan's matching sniggering as he dropped his head to his desk to muffle his own laughs.  He kept a hand over his mouth as he clicked on the Outlook icon in the taskbar to access his e-mail.  While that loaded he pushed the button on the switch that connected his monitor to both his classified and unclassified computers.  The monitor flashed to the username prompt for the unclassified computer and Benson entered his passcode.  While that one loaded he shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it on the hanger he kept hooked on his cubicle wall.

The next three hours passed by quietly.  His other squad members greeted him as they trickled in and Benson worked on an EC he had promised their analyst, Alaric, would be finished last Wednesday.  He hadn't received any e-mails from his source, again, and he was about to compose one to him when Jordan tapped his shoulder.

"It's ten," he said.

"Oh, crap," Benson muttered as he checked the time and then locked his computer.  He stood up and grinned at Jordan.  "You're like my very own OST, you know?"

"More like his secretary," Brad giggled as he passed them on his way to the conference room.

"That is an OST," Jordan called after him in confusion.

"Shhh!" Benson shushed him quickly and glanced around, making sure Loretta, CR-2's OST wasn't around.  "Technically, yes, OST's are secretaries, but some object to that particular moniker.  And if you ever want to get paid on time and your mail to not get lost, I suggest you never mention that to Loretta, okay?"

Jordan nodded, wide-eyed.  He'd already been subjected to one of Loretta's verbal ribbings his first week on the squad and he was not eager for a repeat performance.  Benson patted him on the back in solidarity and picked up a notebook and pen to take to the squad meeting.  They hadn't taken two steps when they saw SAC Crenshaw walking toward them.  They both smiled and nodded in greeting, and only took two more steps before they realized the SAC was actually heading toward them.  They stopped in their tracks and waited for Aaron to get to them.

"Good morning, Benson."

"Aaron," Benson replied with a genuine smile.  Aaron was one of the few executive level managers who wasn't a total dick.  "Have you met Jordan Szustakowski?  He just transferred to criminal from cyber about three months ago."

Aaron and Jordan shook hands.

"Yes, the name is familiar.  I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to get around to having those one on squad meetings I keep claiming I'm going to do."

Benson shrugged.  "SACs are busy."

Aaron repressed a grimace.  "More than I realized actually."

Benson smiled and looked at Jordan who was standing almost at attention.  He was so cute sometimes.

"Aaron was my SSA when I first started working at the Bureau," he explained, hoping to convey to Jordan that this meeting didn't need to be so formal.

"I still remember the first time I met you," Aaron laughed.  "I was genuinely wondering if the Bureau had changed its age requirements for special agents.  I thought there was no way this kid was twenty-three."

Benson's lips twitched down.  "I was almost twenty-four."

Aaron laughed and patted him on the shoulder.  I know, but you didn't look it.  Seriously, Jordan, is it?  You should see some pictures of him back then.  Total baby face."

Jordan bit his lip to keep his smile in check, but his eyes were lit up like Christmas trees.

"Okay, thanks, Aaron," Benson grumbled.  "Just don't be surprised when you're notified about an OPR complaint."

Aaron just laughed at that empty threat.  "You know, I'm still curious why you're not an ASAC yet.  Or at least an SSA."

Benson shifted his weight uncomfortably and cleared his throat.  "Well, after I switched to counterintelligence, I just kept my head down for a few years.  And I need to put the time in again now that I'm back in criminal.  I'm probably not cut out for a supervisory role anyway."

"You are," Aaron said assuredly, but he had also sobered considerably.

There was a moment of uneasy tension in the air.  Benson saw Jordan take a breath as if to speak, but then decided to remain quiet.

"Actually, that's why I've come to see you today," Aaron finally said.

Benson raised his eyebrows.  "About my lack of ambition?"

Aaron smiled wryly.  "No, not that.  About what maybe caused your lack of ambition."

Benson swallowed and slowly curled his fingers up into his palms.

"What—" Benson couldn't think of the rest of the question he wanted to ask, so just left it at that.

"I received some information regarding a mutilated body found in Elton, New Hampshire."

"New Hampshire?  Why would that come to the attention of WFO?  Shouldn't—who handles New Hampshire?"

"Boston."

"Shouldn't the Boston field office be handling it?"

Aaron nodded.  "They are sending a couple of agents from the Portsmouth RA to help out the local PD.  It came to my attention because I've got a request for certain leads to be brought to my attention.  Specifically, unique details regarding murder cases."

Benson swallowed again.  "What kind of details?"

"Well, this body in Elton was found in a coffin."  Benson felt a chill begin to settle on his skin.  "The victim had been tortured and mutilated, both pre- and post-mortem."  Benson felt pain and only belatedly realized he was clenching his fists so hard his hands were shaking.  "There was a word carved into her chest: a word that looked like the name of an angel.  A pretty obscure name though.  They haven't figured out its significance yet."  Benson was actually feeling ill from the spread of cold dread that clashed with the wave of hot anticipation building in his gut.

"What was her crime?" he asked hoarsely.

"That we don't have," Aaron said, holding Benson's gaze steadily.  "They didn't report it.  So, maybe they didn't find it.  Maybe it's a copycat who doesn't know."  Aaron shrugged.  "Maybe it's a coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence," Benson said with more force than he meant to.

"I don't think it is either.  I thought you'd want to know about it.  And I thought you wouldn't mind that I told the Portsmouth RA to be expecting you to come up to help with the investigation."

Benson let out a rush of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Yes.  I mean, no.  I don't mind.  Thank you, Aaron, really.  I'll be on a plane this afternoon."

Benson turned to walk back to his desk, but Aaron called him back.

"Settle down, Benson.  I understand how important this is to you, but the case is under federal jurisdiction.  We've got a claim on it and the body isn't going anywhere.  You've got a travel voucher to fill out and cases to brief to others to take over while you're gone.  You can fly out first thing in the morning."

"But—"

"Remick!  Suzukostli!"

All three men jumped at the loud, irate shout from the man leaning out of the door of the conference room.  "What's the hold up?"

When Bob saw their SAC he immediately switched to a neutral face and approached the group.

"Sir, good morning."

"Good morning, Bob," Aaron said pleasantly.  "I'm sorry for holding up your agents, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to co-opt your best agent for an indefinite amount of time.  We've got an emergency TDY to New Hampshire that Benson personally needs to attend to."

Bob raised his eyebrows but only said, "If that's where he is needed then that's where he'll go.  Will he have back up?"

"Of course, the Boston field office is cooperating with our efforts."

Bob looked at Benson.  "Is this—about that case?"

Benson nodded minutely.

"But how—"

"We're not sure yet," Aaron answered.  "It may not be him.  That's why we're sending Benson."

"Do they know this was our case first?"

"They're aware of the circumstances surrounding the request for Benson's presence."

Bob frowned.  "I don't want Benson sidelined on this."

Benson tried to keep his eyebrow from quirking too much in surprise.  Bob was a good enough guy, but he never would have pegged him for being so defensive of his agents.

"I think they'll welcome his insight on this particular case."

"Maybe it would be better to send someone else with him.  Someone else acquainted with the case."

"Mitch is retired," Benson said softly.  "Whitfield is an ASAC now.  Brown is an SSA in Houston.  And no one else knew the details.  Not like we did."

"Benson is very capable," Aaron assured Bob, and maybe Benson too.  "Besides, this case could go on for quite some time; I don't know if we can spare two senior agents or keep an ASAC away from his duties for an indefinite amount of time."

Bob frowned harder.  "I still don't like sending him alone.  Not that I don't think he can't handle it, but it would be better to have a greater WFO presence so he won't be pushed aside."

Benson opened his mouth to tell Bob he would be fine alone when Bob's eyes snapped to Jordan like he'd just realized he was there.

"Salatoski."

"Yes, sir?"

"How would you like to go on a TDY to exotic New Hampshire?"

Jordan's jaw dropped for a moment and then he nodded.  "Yes, of course, I'd love to help Benson with..." he trailed off as he realized he had no idea what case the other three were talking about.

"Great.  It's settled.  Not sure if this is a good case to break you in on, but I've always found the deep end is the best place to learn how to swim."

Jordan gulped nervously.

"Benson," Aaron drew his attention.  "Weekly updates, even if there's nothing to report."

"Yes, sir."

"And make sure your travel voucher is turned in before you leave, okay?"

"Will do."

Aaron shook hands with all of them and took his leave.  Bob's face soured when he was gone.

"All right.  I guess you're leaving tomorrow?  You can start making arrangements after the squad meeting."  Benson started to protest but Bob cut him off.  "You need to hand your cases off, so it's best to do it while we're all together and can figure out who can work on what."

Benson conceded and the three of them walked to the conference room, but his mind was five hundred miles and eight years away.

 

**Tuesday, September 17, 2013**

 

Jordan strummed his fingers on the desk of the Enterprise car rental counter and glanced back where Benson stood by the sliding glass doors, fidgeting with the clasp on his expensive looking watch.  Of course it could have been a knockoff from Chinatown for all Jordan knew about brand name jewelry.  He thought his Fossil watch was pretty fancy himself.  He studied its slightly scratched face since he didn't have much of anything else to think about.

Yesterday had gone by faster than he could have imagined, mainly because trying to book travel arrangements to small towns while still staying within in the government's requirements regarding lodging per diems and which airlines happened to be acceptable on any given day ate up four hours easily.  Benson had left early using some comp time he had leftover from the last wiretap he worked helping out another squad.

The most Jordan had learned about the case was that it involved three unsolved murders that took place in the DC area back in the spring/summer of 2005 and that the murder in Elton had too many similarities to the cold case to be mere coincidence.  They were either looking at a copycat or the killer that had eluded capture eight years ago.  But that's all he knew.  He had no details or any knowledge of exactly what Benson's involvement in the case had been.  It seemed unlikely he had been lead on the case since from the timing he wouldn't have even finished his one year probationary period as a new agent when the first murder happened.  And Jordan had had no chance today to ask more about it as the public venue of an airport was not the appropriate place for an in depth discussion regarding, from what little he'd heard, a very gruesome case.  Plus he and Benson had been seated four rows apart on the plane.

The flight had been uneventful and they'd both brought only hanging garment bags and a small backpack as luggage so they wouldn't have to check any bags.  Jordan had left Benson behind when he went to check in for the rental car because Benson had been grumbling non-stop about not being able to fly to a closer airport the moment they'd landed at Logan.  Jordan didn't want someone being grumpy to ruin their possible chance at getting a free upgrade on their car; the government only let them go as high as intermediate size.  Neither he nor Benson were intermediate sized.

Unfortunately most of their fleet was booked for that weekend (or so they claimed) and Jordan was handed the paperwork for a Hyundai Accent.  He grimaced, already feeling sorry for his legs, and walked over to Benson.

"We set?" Benson asked and walked out through the doors without waiting for an answer.

They traded their paperwork for a set of keys and Benson loaded their luggage into the trunk while Jordan went over the exterior inspection with the agent.  At last they were on their way, trying their best to navigate the streets of Boston and figure out how to use the GPS device they'd paid an extra twelve dollars a day for.

"This is ridiculous," Benson griped as they had to make a trip around a second traffic circle to the fourth main road they had to take before getting to I-95.  "They should have let us fly somewhere closer than this.  If not Laconia than at least Portsmouth.  I mean, it's a freaking international airport.  How is that not big enough to accommodate government approved carriers?"

Jordan assumed the question was rhetorical, but answered him anyway.  "It's not that far of a drive, actually.  Only a couple of hours.  And we could use the time."

"To do what?" Benson groused.

"Well, you could fill me in on this case for one thing.  I'd like to show up and have some inkling of what's going on."

When Benson didn't answer Jordan glanced at him.  He was leaning an arm on the door's armrest and gnawing on his lower lip with a scowl furrowing his pretty face.  No, better go with handsome.  Jordan wasn't the kind of man who couldn't own up to noticing another's man attractive qualities, but Benson didn't seem like the type to be amenable to being called pretty.

Jordan looked back to the road, a little peeved that he was being ignored.  He was technically a junior agent, but he wasn't incompetent.  And despite their SSA implying he was only being sent to take up space, he had no intention of watching this from the bleachers.

"When I first started in the Bureau," Benson began, "they actually didn't have a place for me after I graduated.  I spent the first six months kinda floating from squad to squad doing mostly OST work.  Then I was sent permanently to the Criminal Division and was assigned to violent gangs.  Then there was some internal shuffling and some internal bickering.  You know how it goes," Benson said dryly.

"Yeah," Jordan huffed out a laugh.  "Don't have to be long in the Bureau to see that nonsense."

"Yeah.  So, I was finally assigned to CR-4 and had only been working there for a couple months, really finally settled down and learning the routine, when a case came in involving a priest that had been kidnapped in Maryland and driven into Virginia."

"It became a federal case."

"Yep.  So, one of the senior agents, a really great agent named Mitch Bianchi, was going to help out the local PD’s and said he'd take me along to help get my feet wet.  It was just supposed to be—I mean, you know they teach us that there's no such thing as a routine investigation, but this was supposed to be—pretty routine."

“I take it that it didn’t turn out to be quite so routine.”

Benson’s jaw clenched as the memory flashed in his mind as fresh as the day he first saw it.  “We found the priest because the killer wanted us to find him.”

Jordan waited for Benson to speak again, but his eyes were looking out the front windshield, unseeing.  At least, his eyes weren’t seeing anything that was currently in front of him.  Jordan was grateful he’d managed to convince Benson to let him drive because Benson simply was not there.  He decided to wait Benson out; he’d speak when he was ready.  After ten minutes of silence and the urban gradually melting into the suburban, Jordan wondered if Benson had forgotten he was there.  He adjusted his grip on the wheel, hearing the tacky sounds of his skin peeling off the leather.  When had he gripped the wheel so tight?

“Benson, I realize this—”

“He had hand carved a coffin.”

“Wh-what?”  Jordan was a little startled by Benson’s sudden return to the vehicle.

“The killer,” Benson said, the faraway look gone from his eyes as he glanced at Jordan.  “He’d been planning the killing for a while.  He’d made a coffin out of white pine.  It was beautifully crafted.  Every piece fit perfectly together; it was perfectly level; perfectly smooth.  But unlined, undecorated, no hardware.  Just the pine.  And the priest was in it.  He was stripped except for his collar.”  Benson shook his head.  “You couldn’t even see the color of his skin it was so mottled with bruising.  I mean, literally, every inch of skin, front and back, had been beaten.  The ME said it was probably a rubber mallet, among other things.  All done while he was still alive.  His wrists and hands were broken.  His fingernails had been pulled off.  Wooden splinters shoved under his toenails.”

Jordan shifted in his seat as he felt that weird squirmy feeling in his stomach people got when thinking about having things shoved under their nails.

“His eardrums were punctured pre-mortem, his eyes carved out postmortem.  He’d taken them out almost surgically and then placed them back in.  When we were at the scene we had no idea.  He had a brand burned into his skin pre-mortem.  A word on his penis actually.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows and glanced at Benson before looking back to the road.

“Molester.”

“Molester?” Jordan sucked in a breath.  “This story is probably going to get a whole lot greyer, huh?”

“I guess that depends on what you feel is cruel and unusual punishment.  The violence perpetrated on the body was the result of uncontrolled anger: it was sloppy and wild and personal.  And, I mean, I can understand that, in a way, if you know what I mean.  But it was all the postmortem stuff.  Not just the eyes, but there were cuts on the body: methodical, exploratory, curious.  As much as I find it reprehensible, I can understand beating someone you feel wronged you.  But.  He was playing with the body, Jay.  It became a game.”  Benson clenched his jaw again.  Sometimes he found it difficult to reconcile that he was a member of the same species as some of the sick fucks out there.

Jordan watched the emotions flicker across Benson’s face: anger, repulsion, grief, a brief glimpse of fear, determination, and then despair.  The despair lingered.  Jordan cleared his throat to draw his attention.

“So, I thought I heard Crenshaw say something about angels?”

“Oh, yeah.  He’d carved the word ‘Gabrael’ onto his chest.”

“Gabriel?”

“Close to it.  At first we thought the killer had misspelled Gabriel, but after a little Googling we found there is an angel named Gabrael, spelled G-A-B-R-A-E-L.  He’s associated with a few things, but predominantly he’s a protector of children.”

“Ah.  So the, uh, accusation on his genitals…?”

“We were never able to get an official confirmation, but he had been moved from diocese to diocese over the years.  We contacted some former congregants, heard the rumors.  A grown man did tell us he was abused by Father Dolan.  He was in his 40’s.  We had decades’ worth of potential victims—and suspects.  We made the mistake of assuming this was just a revenge killing.  We should have known better—the joy he took mutilating the body should have clued us in that he was just getting warmed up.  Or maybe he had inadvertently gotten a taste for it.  I mean, we didn’t stop investigating—didn’t assume the priest got what he deserved and moved on to other cases.”

“Of course not.”

Benson chuckled humorlessly and he looked out his window.  There was nothing but forest on both sides of the highway.

“We were actually surprised when the next body turned up.  Two months later, another pine coffin showed up with a woman's body.  Jeannine Tirro.  She was tortured before she was killed.  I mean, Spanish Inquisition shit, man.  She was sodomized with… ME's best guess, a wooden spatula.”

Jordan winced and made a face.

“She'd been branded on the back of her neck with the word ‘abuser’ and had the word 'Kael' carved onto her chest.  Another obscure angel name.  And then he killed her by suffocating her with chloroform.  And _then_ he really started to play with her."

"What did Kael represent?" Jordan asked, trying to pull Benson away from that memory.

"Another guardian of children.  But, she had no connection with the Catholic Church.  Or any church for that matter.  She was just a woman who drove a city bus for a living and only had grown children.  When we called her children in to tell them about her death, neither of them were particularly upset by it.  In fact, the daughter just walked out as soon as we told her we had nothing else.  The son admitted their mother used to abuse them when she was frustrated.  She'd fill the bathtub with scalding water and hold them in it.  It wasn't hot enough to scar them, so there was never any evidence that other people saw—but it was enough to cause second degree burns.

"Anyway, we thought we’d really get him now.  The crossover of people who know the priest and this woman, it couldn’t be that many.  We even investigated Tirro’s son because he used to date a girl who attended Dolan’s church, but it didn’t pan out.  He had an alibi for Dolan.  We were baffled.  Every lead was a dead end and we weren’t getting any new ones.  Then two months later, right on schedule actually, Walter Feldman showed up in a box.  And we were scrambling now.  It’s so rare for a serial killer to kill that often.  I mean, twice a year is kind of considered frequent, you know?”

Jordan nodded.  He did know.  He’d loved the behavioral science unit of their classes and the case studies they’d reviewed at the academy, but he didn’t interrupt to share that tidbit of information about himself.

“Three bodies in less than six months.  All of them violently abused and tortured and then played with after death.  Feldman was sodomized so brutally his colon was ruptured and leaked into his body cavity.  The ME actually thinks he got lucky with that.”

“Lucky?!” Jordan blurted out, shocked.

“It killed him.  Slowly yes, but probably quicker than the killer intended.  Most of his damage was done postmortem.  Including the angel name carved on his chest: Raguel.  The brand was pre-mortem.  We think it’s the first thing the killer does: brand the victim with their ‘crime.’  Feldman’s was the word ‘depraved’ across his lips.”

“What’d he do?  Does Raguel protect children too?”

“Raguel is associated with justice.  Feldman was a lawyer who apparently specialized in finding technicalities that kept pedophiles out of prison.”

“Hn.  I get that that’s despicable, but he didn’t abuse anyone himself?”

“Not that we could find.”

“Seems like the killer was just looking for an excuse at that point to satisfy his own twisted desires.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” the words escaped on a tired sigh.  “And we couldn’t access the list of the victims of the people he’d gotten off to cross reference them with our previous pitiful list of suspects.  Sometimes client privilege really is a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Jordan laughed softly.  “Until you want it yourself.”

“Exactly,” Benson groused.

Jordan smiled at his pout.  “So, what happened then?”

Benson grunted.  “Nothing.  We panicked as the next two month time limit seemed to tick down, but there was no body.  Not then, and never again.  We poured over and over our three vics and re-interviewed witnesses and followed any leads we had ignored before because we thought they weren’t leads at all—and as it turns out, they weren’t.  There was no new evidence.  What we had told us nothing.”

“What about the forensics?”

“Zilch.  The crime scenes were spotless.  The wood of the coffins was untraceable to a specific store or lumber yard.  Or, hell, even a forest.  We got ‘white pine is common in the northeast.’  We found one hair at one scene, but it was a dog hair.  The victim didn’t own a dog, but we had no way of knowing if it was brought in by the victim or the killer.”

“What kind of dog?”

Benson gave Jordan a look.  “A brown one.”

“What?  Can’t they do DNA analysis on dogs too?”

“Come on, Jay.  You know that hair itself can’t be tested for DNA.  There needs to be a follicle with cells attached to it.  It was just a hair.”

“Okay, okay,” Jordan replied, chastised by his own sense of I-should-have-known-better and oddly pleased with the nickname Benson seemed to have assigned him.  “So what happened with the case?”

Benson half-shrugged. 

"It went cold.  Frigid actually.  He didn’t kill again.  We couldn’t progress any further with what we had.  Poor Mitch stayed past his scheduled retirement an entire year.  But…just…nothing.  I don’t know if he ever really let it go, but he eventually retired.  And I passed the case on to others on my squad to see if fresh eyes would help.  I mean, they had helped all along of course, but maybe if someone else took point they might take a different approach.  But it got buried under more pressing cases, and I transferred to CI to take a break.  That case was all I had worked on the criminal side and I was ready for something completely different.  So I followed around Chinese IOs for the next five years.”

Jordan nodded thoughtfully.  He knew Benson had transferred from criminal to counterintelligence and back again, but he hadn't known any of the reasons for the transfers.  It wasn’t uncommon for agents to change divisions every now and then; his own transfer from the Cyber Division hadn't been a shock to anyone.

Benson shifted in the bucket seat.  They both had their seats pushed all the way back, but leg room was still a little scarce for Benson’s 6’1” and Jordan’s 6’4” frames in their little Hyundai.  They drove in companionable silence for a few miles and crossed the state border from Massachusetts to New Hampshire.  There was a sign that said they were two miles from Seabrook.  Jordan smiled at the name.

“Seabrook,” he said.

“Hm?” Benson murmured the half-question.

“Seabrook.  It’s just such a New England town kind of name, isn’t it?” he chuckled.

Benson just frowned.  Jordan was worried for a moment that he had offended him or something, but he was pretty sure Benson had been born and raised in the DC area.

“It is,” Benson said.  “I can’t believe we’re going to work a case in some tiny New England town.  It has, like, five thousand people.  And it’s on a lake.  I’m sure it’s quaint and positively charming.”

His scowl deepened and Jordan laughed at him.

“Do you have a problem with quaint and charming New England towns?”

“They’re creepy!  The weirdest shit always happens there.  There are psychotic groundskeepers and murderous little children and ghosts and demon possessions.”

Jordan laughed harder and had to refocus on his driving quickly.  “Please don’t tell me you believe in the last two.  Or all four, really.”

“You’ve seen the movies.  All these small towns have secrets.  And they don’t like outsiders.  One of us isn’t going to make it out of this alive.  Mark my words.”

Jordan shook his head, still smiling.  “As long as it’s not me.”

Benson made a face and Jordan checked the GPS on the dash.

“So, we’re going to be passing Portsmouth soon.  Do you want to swing by the RA and get in contact with the ASAC first?”

“What time is now?” Benson asked, answering his own question by looking at the car’s dashboard clock: 1:31pm.  “Nah.  Let’s head straight to Elton.  I want to get checked into the motel and get over to see the police chief as soon as possible.  I want to be able to see the body today if possible.  I’ll call and let them know our plan and they can meet us there.”

Benson pulled his Blackberry out of the holster on his hip (enviously eyeing Jordan’s new issue Android phone) and began to search through the directory for James Muff’s phone number.  Benson chuckled to himself.  _Muff_.

“Hey, Benson?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s him?”

Benson stopped his search and repressed a sigh as he looked out the windshield at the oncoming road.

“I don’t know.  The coffin wasn’t handmade.  And they haven’t found a brand.  Both of those facts were kept from the press.  So, a copycat wouldn’t know to do them.”

Jordan nodded.  “That’s what your head is telling you.  What’s your gut say?”

Benson gnawed on his lower lip for a long minute.  Then he said quietly, “I think it’s him.”

***

Jordan looked around the motel room.  There weren’t a whole lot of options in Elton, especially when the government rate was factored in.  They were at the Lakeside Motor Lodge, and it wasn’t actually as fancy as it sounded.  They’d gotten rooms next door to each other, but where Benson had a king size bed, Jordan had a room with two queens.  If anyone needed more room to stretch out it was him, but the mattresses were soft so at least he wouldn’t need a chiropractor by the end of the week.  He took in the dull maroon carpet, worn paisley bedspread, chipped furniture, and sad, drab artwork on the walls.  He wondered for how long they would be here.  They had filled out their travel vouchers for the maximum thirty days allowed, and he had a feeling they would be filling out an extension.  There were no extended stay hotels in Elton proper and Benson hadn’t wanted to stay even a short drive away.  Jordan supposed he understood, but not having a kitchenette or even a mini fridge for the foreseeable future was not exciting.

Jordan had just finished hanging up his other two suits in the closet when there was a knock at the door.

“It’s open!” Jordan called, still marveling at the concept of a motel in the modern age that still used actual metal keys and locks instead of a card key system.  Benson opened the door but didn’t enter.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

Jordan didn’t think they’d been in their rooms a full ten minutes.  He hadn’t even put his toiletries in the bathroom yet.  He wondered if Benson had unpacked anything or had just dropped his luggage on the bed, taken a leak, and come to get him.  He really didn’t want his dress shirts to wrinkle in the too small garment bag they were currently squished in, but he supposed there was a semi-functioning iron hidden away in the closet.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Jordan replied as he quickly dug out the lockbox from his backpack that had housed his firearm during the flight.  He worked the combination open and then attached the holster to his right hip, hiding it under his suit jacket.  He considered taking his overcoat, but even this far north mid-September was still balmy and pleasant.  Which was a departure from the hot and humid miasma that was currently smothering DC; it was enough to give anyone a wicked case of swamp ass if they weren’t vigilant with their hygiene.

Jordan hurried outside as Benson had already walked to the car, but had to turn back when he remembered he had to actually lock the motel room door.  Benson was waiting patiently by the passenger side door.  He wondered if Benson was trying to be nice by letting him drive or if he just didn’t want to be seen driving an Accent.  Of course, it wasn’t like their Bu cars were anything to brag about, and he didn’t know what Benson’s personal vehicle might be.

The drive to the police station was short, only about ten minutes, but by the time they got there Jordan’s nerves were on edge.  They hadn’t spoken a word, but he could feel the tension build in Benson and saw his shoulders stiffen in increments.  He also chewed on a thumb and bounced a leg all the way there.

The police station was pretty small, even for a small town in Jordan’s opinion, but he supposed the Elton Police Department probably didn’t have that high of a crime rate to battle.  The parking lot was empty except for a couple of unmarked cars and a marked SUV that touted the K9 unit.  Well, maybe the Elton PD was not as small town as he’d thought.

Jordan had to drive past several spots before he found one that wasn’t marked as reserved.  He’d barely put the car in park before Benson whipped his seatbelt off and was out the door.  He wondered if Benson realized all those empty spaces, including the one marked for the police chief, meant that there probably wasn’t anyone to talk to inside.

Jordan got out of the car and locked it (at least the Accent had a key fob), and then buttoned his suit coat as he walked down the sidewalk to the station entrance.  Inside it was quiet like a library: no people milling or rushing around, no rumble of conversations, no ringing phones.  Jordan found Benson being mostly politely informed by the receptionist of what Jordan already knew: no one was there.

“Do you have a way of contacting the police chief?” Benson asked the woman.

According to the name plate on her desk, the woman’s name was Rachel.  She was a pretty brunette with a smile that made Jordan wonder what exactly it was she knew that they didn’t because there had to be something with that smirk.  She returned her attention to the paint job she was applying to her blood red nails.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, “but he won’t come back unless it’s an emergency.  And you, even being a fed, is not an emergency.”

“He’s expecting me though,” Benson insisted.

“I’m sure he is.  He told me to expect you.  And that if you arrived while he was out that I should tell you to go have lunch at Nell’s Diner, and he’ll finish with his call as soon as he can.  So, go have lunch at Nell’s Diner.  His wife runs it, so he’ll be expecting your rave reviews when he gets back.”  She smiled prettily, but Jordan was glad that it wasn’t directed at him.  Even still he shivered a little at her expression.

Benson seemed unfazed by it.  “Would it be a problem if I waited here?”

"No," Rachel said slowly, though clearly she did think it would be a problem.  "But Nell's is literally a five minute walk from here, a ninety second drive.  If you leave your number, I'll let you know the second he's back.  And you know, the body's not going to wander off."  She blew daintily on her drying nails.

"I still think—"

Jordan’s traitorous stomach took the opportunity to grumble loudly in the relative silence of the station.  Benson turned to look at him and Jordan smiled embarrassedly and waved a hand.

“I’m fine.  Let’s wait here.”

He thought he saw a small smile quirk the edges of Benson’s mouth, but then he turned to look at Rachel with a grim expression.

“Let me leave you my contact information; please call as soon as the chief gets back.”

“Good decision,” Rachel said, her voice drawling and smoky.  “You won’t regret it.  They have great pie.”

Benson raised an eyebrow.  “Pie you say?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I prefer cake,” he deadpanned back.  He handed her one of his business cards and she pinched it carefully between her fingers.

“In that case I recommend the devil’s food cake.  It’s very… moist.”  She gave him a wink.

Benson cleared his throat and turned on his heel.  Jordan followed, repressing his chuckle.

“Take a left out of the parking lot,” Rachel called after them.  “You can’t miss it.”

 

~~~

 

True to her word, Nell’s was a ninety second drive away and Benson insisted they take the car.  Bells jangled lightly as they entered the diner, and only one patron who sat at the counter glanced up at them, gave them a once over, and then returned to his bowl of white—Benson was going to assume chowder.  Other than him they were the only customers at 3:30 on a Wednesday, which he supposed made sense since they were in between the lunch and dinner crowds.  Or maybe in a town as small as Elton, there were no crowds.

He and Jordan stood awkwardly at the vacant hostess stand since there was no “seat yourself” sign.  They looked around for a moment and Benson considered opening the door to trigger the bells again.  Before he could enact his plan, a very nice pair of legs strode through a swinging door that he presumed lead to the kitchen.  Benson forced his eyes up and saw the short pink dress and white apron next and noted the distinct hourglass shape under the dress.

 _Further up_ he chided himself.

Eventually he saw a face that was more cute than pretty, but hey, redhead.  The waitress beamed at them.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully as she approached them.  “Two?”

“Yes,” Jordan responded, grinning.

Benson side-eyed him, but refrained from commenting with either words or facial expression.

“Follow me,” she said, turning with a wink for them both.

“Gladly,” Jordan murmured and this time Benson did raise an amused eyebrow at him.

The pink skirt—waitress—led them to a booth by a window.  They sat down across from each other and placed their folded hands on the table.  They looked up at the waitress.  She smiled brightly back at them.

“Um,” Benson started, “do you have menus?”

“Oh!”  The waitress laughed and looked a little embarrassed.  “I’m sorry about that.  Most people who come in here already know what they want.  Heck, most people who come in here _I_ already know what they want.  We don’t get many strangers.”

“I guess that’s why you don’t have a nametag?” Jordan asked.  “Everybody knows everybody.”

“Pretty much,” the waitress agreed as she rocked on her heels.

Jordan waited and then glanced at Benson who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.  Jordan returned his attention to the waitress.  He opened his mouth to speak, but then the waitress started so violently she startled the both of them.

“Oh!  The menus!”  She started to turn away, but Jordan called out, “I’m Jordan…”

“Oh.  Well, hi, Jordan.”  She smiled, and then realization finally dawned over her features.  “Allegria!  I’m Allegria.”

She stuck out her hand and Jordan shook it.  They smiled at each other and Benson wondered if he should excuse himself to the bathroom or something.  Then the waitress pulled her hand from Jordan’s grasp and thrust it at Benson.  He started slightly, but then shook her hand.

“I’m Benson.”

“Benson?  That’s a unique name.”

“No more so than Allegria.”

She laughed and nodded agreement.

“Cheerful and upbeat, right?  Quite the misnomer.”  Benson smiled, letting her know he was teasing her.

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him and then turned on her heel and walked away, presumably to get their menus.  Jordan and Benson leaned forward a little to get a better view of her departure.  Then they sat up and smiled at each other, acknowledging their mutual pathetic male stereotype.

“Wow,” Jordan said.  “That is nice.”

Benson gave a half-shrug.  “I do like redheads.”

“Oh, come on.”  Jordan dropped his voice and leaned forward.  “Do not tell me you wouldn’t hit that.”

“Not under these circumstances.”

Jordan immediately sobered and sat up straight.  “Right.  Sorry.  I mean, we’re here on business.  Terrible business and it would be—really inappropriate?”

Benson smiled, easing some of Jordan’s discomfort.  “It’s not like that.  I just meant I wouldn’t cockblock my adorable little protégé.”  He gave him a shit-eating grin.

Jordan sat back with a huff and a laugh saying, “Oh, fuck you, Remick.”

Allegria returned a moment later with two glasses of water and set them on the table.

“So, what can I get for you?”

Benson and Jordan exchanged a look and then smiled up at Allegria.  Her smile disappeared and she used a hand to partially hide her face.

“Oh my god.  Menus.”  She fled and returned very quickly with two single sheet laminated menus.  “I’ll give you a couple of minutes to look them over.”

She turned and walked away, still looking embarrassed.  Jordan smiled after her.

“She’s cute.”

“Mm,” Benson agreed mildly, checking his watch as he eyed the pretty limited menu.  His Blackberry buzzed and he answered with half his mind still deciding between “chicken sandwich” and “hamburger.”  That was literally all the description the menu gave.  “This is Remick.”

“Agent Benson Remick?”  The voice was gruff with a slight accent that Benson couldn’t place right away.

“Yes, sir?” Benson responded to the authoritative tone.

“This is Muff.  I got your message.  I guess you’re in Elton by now?”

“Yes, sir.  We’re waiting on the police chief to return from a call.  I wanted to take a look at the body today if possible.”

“Hn.  Well, I won’t make it out today.  I’ll come tomorrow, but you go ahead and look at the body if you can.”

“Yes, sir.  Pardon, sir, you said ‘I’?  I thought an agent named Russo was also coming out.”

“She is.”

“She?”

“That a problem, son?”

“No, sir.”

“We should be in Elton around nine a.m. tomorrow.”

“I look forward to meeting you both, sir.  But if you don’t mind me asking, are you coming because…this case is so high profile?”

“Ah, I know you boys at your big field offices are used to your ASACs just running around holding their dicks, but out here we still do real work.”

Benson swallowed a laugh and said, “Glad to hear it, sir.”

Muff grunted and hung up.  Benson raised his eyebrows.  Well, tomorrow should be interesting.

“Who’s the 'she'?” Jordan asked.

“Agent Russo.  She and Muff are coming tomorrow around nine.”

“The ASAC is coming?”

Benson shrugged.

“Well, that should be interesting,” Jordan echoed his thoughts.

Allegria returned and took their orders, the “chicken sandwich” for Benson and the “hamburger” for Jordan.  After she left, Benson gave Jordan hell for ordering a Diet Coke.

“Well, hell, I guess if you’re going to ruin your own chances with her then I’ll step in.”

“Shut-up, man.  There’s nothing wrong with a man ordering a Diet Coke.  In fact, I’d say a man very secure with his masculinity can order a Diet Coke with no shame.”

“Yeah.  You keep telling yourself that.”

After a short wait Allegria returned with their sandwiches (and Jordan’s Diet Coke) and flirted with both of them for a couple of minutes before being called away by Chowder Guy.

Jordan made a slightly frustrated face.  “She can only be into one of us, right?  How can we tell which?”

“Who says a person can only like one person at a time?  Besides, it doesn’t matter.  Just ask her out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?  I thought you had balls made of Diet Coke.”

Jordan made a face at him.  “But seriously though.  If she’s interested in you, you don’t have to step aside for me or anything.”

Benson laughed.  “Jordan, we’ve been here for half a day.  How much sex are you used to getting that you’re already staking out your TDY booty call?”

Jordan flushed.  “I’m not—I don’t—I am taking this job seriously.”

Benson let his smile fade a little.  He could tell Jordan probably wasn’t as ready for a case this gruesome as he pretended to be and Allegria was a welcome distraction.  “I know, Jay,” he said, using the nickname that for some reason he already felt comfortable using.  “I think I’m just a jealous old man.”

Jordan rolled his eyes.  “Oh, yes, I should’ve known better.  Never trust anyone over thirty.”

Benson smiled.  “You’ll be there soon though, won’t you?”

“The better part of two years,” Jordan sniffed haughtily.  “What’s it like on the other side?”

“Sore joints and enlarged prostates.”

“Shut-up.”  Jordan took a bite of his hamburger.  “Ohmuhgahd,” he managed around the large bite.

“What?  What?  Is it bad?”

“Nuh.  If’s gud.”

Benson eyed his own plain looking sandwich.  He took a bite and flavor exploded in his mouth.  He moaned and chewed slowly not able to identify the seasoning as anything other than “yum.”

“This is awesome.  ‘Chicken sandwich’ indeed.”

“I know, right?  Wanna try a bite of mine?”

“That’s okay.  I’ll just order it tomorrow.”

“Or tonight.”

Benson nodded in tacit agreement to the plan of Eat-Every-Meal-At-Nell’s since his mouth was full again.

“As much as I’d like to pocket some of our per diem by buying some groceries,” Jordan said, “I really wouldn’t mind eating every meal here.”

“And not just for the scenery,” Benson managed to get out around another bite as the two of them watched Allegria lean over the counter, her skirt riding higher.

“Mm-hm.  Hey, though.  You really don’t mind if I take a shot at that?”

“Nah.  I’m sure I’ll have other opportunities.”

“In a town full of nothing but psychotic groundskeepers, murderous children, and ghosts?”

“Hn.”  Benson paused in his chewing to make a concerned face.  Then he swallowed.  “You forgot the demons.”

Jordan took a sip of his Diet Coke.  Through a straw.  Geez.  “Well, maybe you can find an angel then.”

Benson put his sandwich down and sat back into the stiff cushion of the booth.

“The only angels we’re going to find here are dead ones.”

Jordan paused in his eating as well, and they sat in a silence that was only broken by the sound of clanging bells as the door to the diner opened.  Allegria turned around and smiled softly at the new customer.

“You’re late,” she said gently.

“Yeah.  I forgot,” the man replied.

Benson couldn’t see his face as he leaned against the counter, but he could tell that he had a lithe figure under the police blues that showcased him better than most police officers looked in uniform.  Allegria patted his clasped hands and then disappeared into the kitchen.  Benson took a few more moments to take in the man’s dark hair, tan skin, and heck—couldn’t deny it was there—nice ass.    He took a sideways bite of his sandwich as he allowed his eyes to linger, hoping it might improve his mood.  He also couldn’t help but to wonder if the guy’s face matched that ass.  Or wait… that didn’t come out right.

Jordan made a choking sound and that finally drew his attention away.  Jordan’s hazel eyes were wide with surprise.

“What?” Benson asked.

Jordan glanced at the officer and then back at him.  “Really?”

Benson shrugged.  “I take my EEO training to heart.”

Jordan laughed.  “And to bed apparently.”

Benson just chewed, nonplused.

Allegria returned from the kitchen with a brown paper bag and handed it to the officer.  He pulled out his wallet to pay.

“How are you doing?” Allegria asked concernedly.

“I’m fine.  Thanks, Al.”

The officer didn’t wait for change and turned to leave.  He glanced briefly at Jordan and Benson, but Benson couldn’t even see if his face was as pretty as his ass.  All he saw was blue eyes.  And then they were gone.  Before he could dwell on the hard look he caught in those eyes, Allegria was in front of them.

“How is everything here, gentlemen?”

Jordan and Benson couldn’t answer; their mouths were once again full and their cheeks were doing fairly decent impressions of hamsters.

“Excellent.  So.  Pie or cake?”

 

~~~

 

Even after a lengthy debate of pie versus cake, Jordan and Benson still made it back to the police station before the police chief.  They sat on hard plastic chairs in the moderately noisier room watching Rachel put a top coat on her nails.  At least Benson was watching her (or glaring at her), Jordan was playing World Champion Poker on his cell phone.  He was up nearly twenty thousand dollars, which was the highest he'd ever gotten, but his thumb was hurting and he wished they'd stayed longer at the diner.

Jordan looked up as the front door to the police station opened, but it was only a uniformed officer.  The guy was the scrawniest thing Jordan had ever seen in his life and was surprised his utility belt wasn't unbalancing him and sending him swaying into walls.  He spotted the agents and grinned at them, giving them a little salute that on anyone else would have seemed mocking, but coming from him was just kind of cute.

Jordan turned to see what scathing expression Benson was giving this officer, as he had done to every single person who had walked in and out of the front office who wasn't the police chief, but Benson didn't see the newest arrival.  His eyes were tracking the dark haired officer they'd seen in the diner as he disappeared around a corner.  Even from only two brief glimpses, the man had made an impression on Jordan.  He was attractive, in an odd way really, but attractive nonetheless.  But what stood out was the barely controlled rage that tightened his shoulders, his lips, his eyes.  There was a lot of anger in that man and Jordan hoped they'd be able to avoid working with him if at all possible.

Benson pushed back in his chair, a grating screech invading the quiet of the room as the metal feet caught on the tile.  The back hit the wall, and Benson grunted and scooted forward again.  Then he settled heavily back in the chair, thumping the plastic back against the plaster.  Jordan watched him and Benson, feeling eyes on him, glanced at Jordan.  He frowned and looked away, but stopped fussing with his seat.  Jordan returned to his game.

They had another maybe fifteen seconds of calm silence before the front doors of the station burst open with clomping boots and shouting voices.  At first Jordan wasn't sure if the voices were angry or just excited or if any of the people coming in were in custody.  It seemed with that amount of noise, someone should be under arrest, but everyone appeared to be free of handcuffs.  Two were uniformed officers, two appeared to be plain clothes detectives, and one just looked like he'd rolled off a two week hangover on the beach.

After some more raucous yelling of insults and jokes, the Beachcomber peeled off from the group as they disappeared into the bullpen.  Beachcomber approached Rachel and spoke with a drawl that wasn't quite southern in origin, perhaps Creole.

“Afternoon, Rachel.  Anything interesting to report?”

Rachel carefully screwed the top back on her nail polish and set the bottle down next to the impressive set of manicure tools that took up a large portion of her desk.

“Not especially.  There was another drunken domestic dispute between the Fieldings about an hour ago, but I sent Bradley out on that.  And… oh yes!  I finally got a hold of the cable guy and he says he’ll come replace the box in the bullpen tomorrow.”

“Well, thank god for small favors.”

Rachel smirked at the mention of god.  Jordan suspected she somehow knew for a fact whether He existed or not.

“And, of course, you-know-who has been slamming doors all day.”

Beachcomber’s pleasantly mellow face dissolved into the kind of blankness people get when they try not to let their feelings show.

“Well.  I think it’s still recent enough that we can put up with it,” he replied sharply, coolly.

Rachel lost her smirk.  “I just meant, he’s not okay.  And maybe we should start being concerned that he’s not.”

“It hasn’t even been a week yet, Rachel.”

“I know.  But he’s not even trying to deal with it.”

“Look, you don’t know him as well as you think you do.  He’s going to need some time to process before he can even begin to deal with it.”

Rachel put her hands up in a displeased surrender.  “I’m only saying it because I’m worried and contrary to popular belief, I do care about someone other than myself.”

Jordan dropped his eyes back to his phone.  He didn’t want to get caught listening in on this conversation.  Benson didn’t appear to have that qualm as he stared at them.

“I know, Rachel.  I didn’t mean it like that.  Look.  I’ll talk to him.  Eventually.  Maybe we should sic Tori on him or something.”

Rachel made a face.  “I don’t think it’s that bad yet.”

Beachcomber let out an honest to god guffaw.  “Yeah, does seem like it might be cruel and unusual.  Especially for him.”  He rapped his knuckles on her desk twice.  “Keep up the good work.”

Beachcomber started to walk away and Rachel’s eyes landed on Jordan and Benson.

“Oh, right.  One more thing,” she called out getting Beachcomber’s attention.  “The feds are here,” she indicated with a tilt of her head in their direction.

Beachcomber turned and spotted them as they shifted awkwardly on their plastic chairs.  He let out another loud laugh.

“How on earth did I miss these two?  Stick out more than a virgin in a whorehouse.”  Beachcomber walked up to them and Jordan and Benson stood on autopilot.  “Gentlemen.”  He offered a hand to both in turn.  “I’m Gus Lanoue.”

Out of habit, Benson pulled out his credentials and flashed them briefly after shaking the police chief’s hand.  Then he introduced himself and Jordan.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow though.”

“Clearly,” Benson said shortly.

His tone wasn’t lost on the otherwise jovial police chief and he turned fully to face Benson.

“Now I hope we don’t get off to the wrong foot here, Agent.  I’ve got a whole town that needs protecting, and that means I can’t just sit around guarding a corpse all day.  I know that this case is going to wind our nut sacks up and then just let ‘em fly—”  Jordan and Benson blinked at the analogy.  “—and it’ll only get worse if it turns into what you boys think it is.  That’s why I’m prepared to work this thing 24/7 with you until we get it solved and the motherfucker who did it is put in the clink.  Or the ground.  I’m not picky which.  But I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, today was my day off, and I still got called in to pull in some crazy squirrel-licker who was threatening to shoot a pickerel in the head for looking at his girlfriend funny.  And just so you know—‘squirrel-licker’ is not some crazy colloquialism.”

Jordan wanted to glance at Benson, just to get some guidance on what kind of response to give to that burst of information, but he didn’t want to appear to be the junior agent that he technically was.  He saw Benson shift in his peripheral vision.

“Please excuse my brusque tone,” Benson said, sounding like he was sorry, but with no less brusqueness is his tone.  “It has been a long day for us, and I’m afraid this case has brought back some very bad memories.”

“Understandable,” Chief Lanoue said and gave Benson’s shoulder a manly, commiserating slap, which almost knocked him into Jordan.  “Now, follow me.  I’ll drop you off at the morgue and Dr. Reading can show you the body and discuss her findings with you.  I’ll change, take care of few other things, and then we can discuss what you think about the case before we call it day.  Sound like a plan?”

“Yes, thank you, Chief,” Benson replied.

“Gus.  Call me Gus.  I might punch you if you call me chief again.”

The man laughed and walked away from them down a corridor to the left.  Jordan and Benson exchanged looks before hurrying after the man.  Jordan was fairly certain the police chief—Gus—actually would punch one of them if they didn’t call him by his given name.  The man led them to a stairwell and went down a long flight of stairs and into the basement.  The place was windowless and lit by fluorescents, casting the dreary grey concrete walls and floor in sickly green light.  They passed by the evidence locker, where a uniformed officer dozed in his chair, and came to a set of double doors at the end of the hall.  Gus pushed them open and when they stepped inside they were hit with the smell of a morgue.

Morgues were peculiar things.  They didn’t smell like rotting bodies or death—but they did have a chemical and alcohol smell that was altered into a completely unique smell by the decaying organic matter, excrement, and fungal growth that was just masked underneath it.  It wasn’t the smell of death, but it was a smell one learned to associate with death.  And Jordan had on occasion gotten a whiff of this strange odor in places like grocery stores—and that was disturbing in ways he didn’t let himself think about.

“Dr. Reading?” Gus called out.

The space was neither small nor large, but serviceable with two examination tables attached to large sinks in one corner with a small section of refrigerated storage directly across.  On the other side of the room was a desk with a computer and pile of folders, and across from that was a lab bench with a light microscope and what looked like a comparison microscope.  The walls were lined with glass front cabinets and all of them were stuffed to capacity with various tools of the medical examiner’s trade.  Jordan wondered if Dr. Reading was a true medical examiner or just a coroner.  Based on the title, he was probably the former.

Gus crossed the room and stuck his head through a door and bellowed, “Dr. Reading!”

“Jesus, Gus.  I’m right here.”

Jordan and Benson started and spun around, hands instinctively going to their waist for their service weapons, but not drawing them when they saw the woman who had entered the door at their backs.

She was tall, with short brown hair, and wore a tight pair of jeans and an even tighter T-shirt that rode up high enough to reveal an intricate tattoo across her midriff.  She smiled at them, her eyes flicking back and forth (and up and down Jordan didn’t fail to notice) before sticking out her hand.

“Hi.  I’m Dr. Reading.  You can call me Nic.  I take it you’re the ones from the FBI?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benson responded, giving her a firm handshake.

Jordan did the same as Gus approached them.  “Well, I’ll leave you two in her very capable hands.  Just come upstairs when you’re ready and Rachel can direct you to my office.”

“Dr. Reading,” Gus said with a bit of snark in his voice as he departed.

“Chief,” Nic responded in kind.

Once again, Jordan and Benson exchanged glances.  Maybe Benson was right about small New England towns.  This whole thing was going to turn into some freaky  _Twin Peaks_  shit before too long.

Nic walked over to her desk and Jordan could feel his eyes lingering on her ass and just couldn’t do anything about it.  Benson elbowed him hard and his eyes snapped up just in time for Nic to turn around and only see hard eye contact from the two agents.  She had a folder in her hand and brought it over to them, handing it to Benson as he had stuck out his hand first.  Benson opened the folder to the page that contained a line drawing of a female body.  These were used to quickly reference where any injuries or marks on the bodies were.  The page was covered in ink.

“Tell me your impressions,” Benson said, not looking up.  “And anything you found of note.”

“Well, of note, I noticed that this woman was abused.  Terribly.  Both before and after death.  She was raped with a foreign object, but I’m not sure what.  Probably something made out of rubber, or even glass, as I didn’t find any trace evidence left behind in the vagina or anus like I would have if it had been made of wood, and no tearing like if it had been metal.”

Benson frowned at this information.

“There was a lot of bruising and cuts.  Of note, a piece of her thigh was cut out and then sewed back in.  Upside down.”

Benson glanced up at Nic with a raised eyebrow.  She shrugged and pointed to the left thigh on the picture.

“The most prominent thing was the word carved on her chest, of course.  'Akael.'  We’re not sure what it means.  We’re consulting the local clergy, but we might have better luck just Googling the damn thing.”

“It might not be a bad idea to do that,” Benson said.  “Killers have access to the same Internet research we do.  Now, the coffin she was found in—it was commercial?  Not handmade?”

“No, not handmade for sure.  Definitely something mass produced.  It actually came from Costco.”

“Costco?” Jordan finally joined the conversation.  “Were you able to track the purchase?”

“Sort of.  It was sold to a funeral home in Missouri, and they can’t find any record of it going missing.  We’ve requested a list of employee names who have access to the inventory, but the owner is fighting it.  Says he wants a warrant, and we have to go through the court system here to request a judge in Missouri to grant us access.  That will probably take a few weeks to be honest.”

“Yeah, not like it’s important or anything,” Benson grumbled as he flipped through the report, reading Nic’s notes.

Jordan cleared his throat, “Dr. Reading—”

“Nic, please.”  She smiled warmly and Jordan blushed.  She was probably only ten years or so older than he, but she reminded him a little bit of a maternal figure.  Though a super-hot crazy one with tattoos on her abdomen.  Her self-assuredness was a little intimidating.

“N-Nic.  Were there any other strange, surgical-like injuries, or…” Jordan trailed off, feeling a little stupid.  He’d never done this before, but Benson wasn’t giving him funny looks so he assumed his question was okay.

“Well, there were some deep cuts made to her throat.  I’m not sure if they were surgical, but it did seem like he was trying to, I don’t know, get to something inside.  Of course, that’s all speculation on my part.”

“Did you do a tox screen on her?”

“Of course.  Negative for alcohol or narcotics or recreational drugs.  But, she had been missing for several days, so it’s possible if the attacker did use something to incapacitate her it would have been flushed from her system by then.”

“Dr. Reading,” Benson spoke, looking up.  “Did you find a brand?  We were told one wasn’t reported, but did you find one?  A word, burned onto her body anywhere?”

Nic looked like she was going to respond immediately, but then stopped to think.  Finally she said, “No, there were definitely no burn marks of any kind.  The only word I found was the angel name on her chest.  I did a very thorough examination of her entire body, but I didn’t see anything like that.”

“It may have been hidden,” Benson pressed.  “On her scalp under her hair.  Armpits.  Toe pits.  On the inside of her labia…”

Nic shook her head.  “I promise you, Agent Remick.  I was very thorough and I found nothing like that.”

“I absolutely do believe you were thorough in your examine.  Your notes prove as much.  But, I hope you’ll understand and not be offended by my desire to check for myself.”

“I’m not offended at all.  But, I’m afraid you can’t.”

Benson snapped the folder closed in one hand, anger darkening his face.  “I was told we would have the full cooperation of the Elton Police Department.”

Nic put up her hands soothingly.  “Whoa, hey.  I’m not telling you ‘no.'  I’m telling you, ‘you can’t.’  The body isn’t here anymore.  I had finished with my examination and collected and recorded and photographed all the evidence.  So, I released the body to the family to be cremated.”

“What?!”

Nic started at Benson’s outburst.  “I can give you full access to the pictures and lab reports—”

“I was told they were going to hold the body for us!”

“I—I wasn’t aware of your need to see the body in person.  Besides, this—”

Benson spun on his heel and stormed out through the double doors.  Jordan turned to follow him, but Nic grabbed his elbow.

“Look, I’m getting that this case is kind of personal for him, but you’ve got to rein him in.  This was in-house.”

Jordan tilted his head for a moment in confusion, and then it hit him.  This woman had either been a cop or the family member of a cop.

“Shit,” Jordan breathed and took off running after Benson.

 

~~~

 

Benson took the stairs two at a time, seething in the closest thing he’d felt to fury since he was twenty-one years old.  What the fuck was wrong with these people?  You didn’t burn fucking evidence.  Of course you couldn’t keep the bodies around forever and families deserved some closure, but not before people had the chance to find out what happened.  Before he had the chance.  He had to know if this was  _him_.  Everything in his body screamed that it was despite the missing pieces.  But he had to know for sure.  He had to see for himself.

Benson burst into the front office.

“Where is he?” Benson yelled, louder than he meant to, but he was just grateful he wasn’t shaking Rachel at this point.

Rachel immediately dropped her smarmy, apathetic routine when she saw him.  Smart girl.

“Who?” she asked carefully.

“The police chief.   _Gus_ ,” Benson spat.

Rachel pointed toward the bullpen.  “In the back, last door on the left.”

Benson stormed past her desk and pushed at the swinging panel that connected the two counters that separated the bullpen from the front office.  He spotted Gus, not yet changed, and laughing with a bunch of stereotypes who were actually munching on donuts and drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups.  Gus spotted him, and peeled away from the group, concern on his face.

“Is there a problem, agent?”

“Is there a problem?!  You fucking burned the body?!”

The noise in the bullpen died immediately and all focus was on them.

“Benson!”

Benson heard Jordan call him as he entered the room, but didn’t acknowledge him.

“You didn’t think it was worth mentioning that you’d already gotten rid of the only evidence we have against this guy?!”

Gus kept his voice calm, but Benson could see he was furious.  “We didn’t throw out any evidence.  I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have been chasing squirrel-licking, fish-threatening lunatics and been here guarding the body after all.”

“Agent Remick, you need to calm the fuck down, right the fuck now, and explain to me why you think it’s okay to disrespect me in  _my_  house.”  Gus’s voice hadn’t gotten much louder, but the threat was clear and it gave Benson pause.  Which was all the time Jordan needed to clamp a firm hand onto his shoulder and speak first.

“We were expecting to be able to examine the body for ourselves,” Jordan said calmly.  “We were told it was being held for us.  And N-n-Dr. Reading just informed us that it has already been released to the family for cremation.”

Benson shook Jordan’s hand off, and then forced in a deep breath.  He felt his anger subside from the boiling point.  From Gus’s raised eyebrows, he clearly knew nothing about this.  And with the red gone from his vision, Benson was able to acknowledge that he had made a serious misstep.  Not only had he misrepresented the Bureau, but he might very well have destroyed any cooperation between the two law enforcement entities before it had even begun.

Gus’s eyes traveled to the front of the room.  “Dr. Reading.  Care to explain what happened to the body?”

Jordan and Benson turned to see Nic standing at the entrance to the bullpen, looking pale and her face drawn tight.

“He asked if I was finished.  I told him I was.  He just wanted to give her—some peace.  He said he had your permission,” she finished miserably.

Gus let out a soft grunt and turned slightly away from Benson and Jordan.  And then he roared, “MERCER!”

The others in the room broke into hushed whisperings and shuffled things around on their desks, but no one returned to work.  A dark head stood up from the back of the room and slowly, almost casually, approached the trio.  It was the officer from the diner but the last thing on Benson’s mind was finally checking out his face.  This asshole was the one responsible for this clusterfuck.  However, even with his thoughts mostly preoccupied with anger, embarrassment, and some despair at losing evidence, he still noticed the grace with which the man walked.  And fuck him, those blue eyes.

“Yes, Chief Lanoue?” the officer addressed Gus formally, but kept his cold eyes on Benson.

“I’m quite certain you knew the FBI was coming to look into this case.  You knew we were holding the body.  And you went behind my back.  Lied to Nic.  What is going on in your head?”

The man finally looked away from Benson to Gus.  Benson felt like a weight had been removed from his chest with that glare gone.

“I have a right to bury my family, Gus.  She’d already been down on that slab for a week.  Nic is excellent at her job.  A professional.  She didn’t miss anything.  Everything had been recorded.  She deserves to not just be some naked refrigerated corpse in the basement!”

“She didn’t find everything!” Benson cut in, grabbing the officer’s attention again.  “She didn’t find the brand.  I need to see for myself.”

“She didn’t find it because it’s not there!  I know what case you’re working, Agent, they informed us.  This isn’t the same guy.  Too many details are different.  You just  _want_  it to be.  And there’s no reason why my sister has to suffer because you want to poke and prod at her some more!  She’s been through enough!”

“You don’t—” Benson took a step forward and checked himself sharply when he heard the growl.  He looked down and Benson started back a step at the ferocious snarl being directed at him by a very large, very unhappy dog.  How had he not seen that monster before now?  Probably because he couldn’t remember seeing much other than the bluest eyes he’d ever seen in his life for the last few minutes.  What he saw now was a dog that was big even for a German Shepherd, and had a shiny link chain around its neck.  Attached to the chain was a gold police shield.  Benson wasn’t terribly familiar with police badge designs, but he was fairly certain this dog outranked some of its human counterparts.  He kept a wary eye on the dog but returned his attention to the uniformed cop who was quickly ruining his whole life.

“You don’t know that that’s true.  You can’t.  And if it _is_ him, this is the fourth kill we know of.  And it won’t be the last!  Catching this guy has got to take priority!  Hell, catching this guy has got to take priority to a funeral even if it isn’t him!”

The dog barked and snapped its teeth at his tone, growl getting louder.

“Mercer,” Gus snapped.  “Get that mutt under control.  Now.”

The officer, Mercer, reached a hand down to brush his fingers against the back of its head.  It stopped bristling and licked its lips, but a low rumble still spilled from its throat.

“Down, Bunny,” Mercer said softly, and at last the dog sat back on its haunches and ceased its growling.

Benson opened his mouth to speak again, but then glanced from the officer to the fearsome dog, and back to those eyes.

“Its name is Bunny?” he heard himself asking before he could stop himself.

The question caught the officer off guard and the hard lines of his face softened just a touch, and if Benson wasn’t mistaken, the corners of his lips twitched up just slightly.  They eyed each other for a long moment.  Probably longer than was socially acceptable, and then Mercer’ face was a mask of stone again though some of the anger was gone.

“I’ll accept any discipline, sir,” he said addressing Gus but still locked eyes with Benson.  “But there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

“Actually, there is.  You are going to take Agent Remick and Agent Suza-Zoota—”

“Szustakowski,” Jordan murmured softly.

“—to the funeral home and you are going to tell Andrew that he’s going to stay open late tonight and let these two do their examination.”

Benson felt a spark of hope.  Was the body not destroyed yet?

Mercer opened his mouth but was cut off by Gus.

“And don’t even try to tell me she’s already been cremated.  I know the body didn’t leave here until today and Andrew is the slowest fuck with paperwork I’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with.”

Benson could tell that Mercer was biting the inside of his cheek painfully hard, but it kept him from saying anything stupid and possibly from letting the glassy look that was now in his eyes turn into full blown tears.

“Fine.  They can go do whatever they want to do.  But there’s no reason for me to—”

“There’s every reason, Mercer, not the least of which you are the only one who can give permission for them to see the body.  And believe me.  You and I will have a conversation about this tomorrow.  Right now, you are taking these agents to the funeral home.  And when I say ‘right now’ I mean ‘right the fuck now.’  Are we clear?”

The man swallowed thickly.  “Yes, sir.”

Mercer spun on his heel and walked stiffly back to his desk to collect a set of keys.  Gus looked Benson square in the eye.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, Agent Remick.  I hope you will find this resolution acceptable.”

Benson swallowed uneasily at the police chief’s cool tone.  “Y-yes.  It’s fine.”

“Good.  And you and I will also have a conversation tomorrow.”

Benson felt a wave of heated mortification roll through his body.  The sensation almost made him physically ill.

“I think that would be best,” he replied.  He needed to get this business sorted out before the ASAC from Portsmouth arrived.  The last thing he needed was this incident getting back to his SSA or Crenshaw or anyone else at WFO.  Though it probably would.  That’s how the Bureau worked.  It was a vicious gossip mill hidden under the guise of chain of command.

Mercer strode past them without a word, Bunny hard on his heels.  Benson considered shaking Gus’ hand again, but now probably wasn’t the time.  He nodded to Jordan and they started to leave the bullpen, following the quickly disappearing back of the officer.  Benson kept his eyes down; he didn’t want to see the looks he was sure to be getting from the other officers and detectives.  He did glance up to make sure he wouldn’t walk into anything on his way out and saw a plain clothes detective leaning on one of the counters.  One hand clasped his wrist, keeping his other hand in front of his groin.  The curve of his hand made it seem like he was cupping an erection.  He looked to the man’s face, finding it unremarkable with a sharply trimmed beard, but with glittering brown eyes.  The detective wasn’t smiling, but he was on the edge of one.  Benson looked away.

Outside the sun was still fairly high in the sky even though it was after five o’clock.  Mercer was opening the backseat to the police vehicle marked K9 and Bunny hopped right in.  He shut the door after her and got into the driver’s seat without so much as a glance at the agents and only a muttered, “Follow me.”

Benson heard the SUV start up and he uttered a curse under his breath as he jogged over to their stupid Accent.  Jordan was right behind him and they managed to turn out of the parking lot only a few seconds after Mercer.  The funeral home was a fifteen minute drive away, which meant it was on the complete opposite side of town.  DC and Elton actually had pretty much the same square mileage, but the thought of getting across DC in fifteen minutes was laughable.

When they parked and got out, Mercer and Bunny were already halfway inside the door, and allowed it to slam shut behind them.  Benson slammed his car door in his aggravation.  He realized the guy was going through some shit—knowing what had been done to his sister couldn’t be easy—but for fuck’s sake they were all on the same side here.

“At least since he’s personally involved we won’t have to work with him on this case,” Benson muttered as they approached the door.

Jordan glanced at him but didn’t respond.  Benson wasn’t sure if it was because he had nothing to say or because he thought Benson’s sentiment was a little callous.  He couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment.

Inside there was the quiet murmur of voices going back and forth.  The few words he caught made it clear that Andrew was not thrilled about staying late and Mercer was not thrilled with the FBI’s presence in general.  Jordan and Benson entered the room and Mercer glanced back at them before returning his attention to Andrew.  Bunny kept her sharp focus on Benson.

“Look, you don’t have to stay.  I can lock up for you.”

“No way, Oska.  You can’t stay here while they—you can’t see her.  Not like that.”

“I’ve already seen the reports.  And I’m not going to watch them do the exam.  I’ll just sit out here and wait.  It’s my fault anyway.  I didn’t have permission to release the body.  You shouldn’t have to miss your shows because of my—my mistake.”

Andrew snorted.  “Miss my shows?  It’s September.  And those bastard studios keep pushing back the fall premiere dates every year.  I swear, one year, they’ll debut the week before they go on holiday hiatus after Thanksgiving.”

Mercer gave the smallest of smiles, but it was enough for Benson to see how beautiful he could be.

“Well, fuck.”

“What?” Jordan asked.

Benson started.  Had he said that out loud?  He looked at Jordan and shook his head.  “Nothing.”

“I guess you two are the agents?” the funeral director called out.  He was short, stocky, redheaded, and covered in freckles.  He felt bad for thinking it, but Benson was pretty sure this guy’s high school life hadn’t been the easiest.  “Come with me.  I’ll get—her—out and show you where you can work.  You stay here,” he added with a pointed finger at Bunny.

Bunny tilted her head at him like he was saying something funny.  When Mercer gave her a hand signal, she lay down and put her chin on her paws dejectedly and watched the humans move down a dimly lit hallway.  Jordan followed the funeral director toward a white door, and Benson paused to catch Mercer’ eye and say, “Oska?”

Mercer’ lips did that twitch again like he was fighting a smile.  “Benson?” he replied in the same tone.

This wasn’t the first time Benson had been touché-ed for making fun of someone else’s name, so he followed Jordan without further comment.  Though he did wonder when Mercer—Oska—Mercer, fuck—had learned his name.

Once again they were led downstairs into a basement.  Benson thought that maybe they should put morgues in big open rooms above ground with a lot of windows for natural sunlight.  If a person had to work with death all day, at least they would still be able to see life around them.  The same smell from the police department’s morgue wafted up the stairs as they descended, but once they hit the main floor the sharp mixture of embalming chemicals hit them full on.  Benson parted his lips to breathe through his mouth for a minute until his nose got used to the malodorous intrusion.

“You haven’t embalmed her yet, have you?” Benson asked.

“No,” Andrew replied, short and clipped.  “We don’t embalm those slated for cremation.  Do you really think it would be a good idea to send all those chemical into the air?  Not to mention about forty percent of my mixture is ethanol.  It would as likely explode.”

Benson ran his tongue over his teeth to keep from commenting.  One, no, ethanol would not cause a corpse to explode, just burn quicker.  And two, he got that the dude was defending his fellow town person or whatever (or maybe they were friends), but Benson was fed up with the population of Elton and didn’t want to deal with anyone else’s snarky bullshit.

“If you would just get the body set up for us and tell us where we can find some gloves, we’ll handle it from there.”

Andrew gave him a playground stink eye, but walked over to the stacked storage unit that presumably held any number of dead bodies.  Oska—Mercer—Oska, fuck—was leaning against the wall next to the door, not speaking, just watching.  He closed his eyes when Andrew pulled out the tray that held his sister.  She was covered in a white cloth and Benson helped lift the tray and place it on one of the work tables.

Andrew spoke softly so Benson could barely hear him, and for certain Oska couldn’t, “She’s been with only refrigeration for close to six days now, so she’s actually in pretty bad shape.  They also used an antifungal disinfectant on her with mixed results.  Be careful not to get any on your skin or in your eyes.  And try not to breathe it in.”

Benson nodded in acknowledgement and Andrew showed them where the heavy duty aprons and gloves were, along with some simple tools that might help them.  He went into great detail about the locking mechanism on the refrigerated storage unit and made sure both Benson and Jordan could do it themselves before he was willing to leave.  He surveyed his space for a moment with hands on hips and a nervous eye.  Benson was worried the guy might elect to stay, but he checked his watch and turned to Oska.

“Come on, Oska.  Walk me out so I can show you how to lock the front door.”

“No,” Oska murmured, eyes on the white cloth-covered figure.  “I’ll stay here.”

“Oska, I don’t think—”

“No, you’re not,” Benson said firmly.  “Go upstairs.”

Oska’s cold blue eyes turned to him.  “I’m not leaving her al—Relax, Agent, I’m not saying I don’t trust you and think you will plant evidence.  But I’m going to stay down here as witness.  Chain of custody and all that.”

“Chain of custody is already shot to hell,  _O_ _fficer_.  Even if we find anything here, it won’t be admissible in court.  At best we’re going to try to confirm it’s the same guy who killed in DC eight years ago.”

“My being here won’t hinder you in that goal.”

“You’re not staying here.”

“You have no authority—”

Benson took two steps which put him squarely in Oska’s personal space and effectively trapped him between Benson’s body and the wall.  Oska was only a couple of inches shorter, but Benson was broader through both the shoulders and hips, making him appear much larger than the other man.  But Oska didn't flinch or seem the least intimidated.

 _Emotional manipulation it is then_ , Benson thought.

“You’re not staying here—while we search through every crevice of your  _sister’s_  body.”

Oska inhaled sharply and kept his glare going as best he could, but clearly Benson’s words had affected him.  Perhaps the mental image was enough to convince him to go before he saw something he couldn’t un-see.

“Oska,” Andrew said softly.

Oska moved forward, and rationally Benson knew he was simply moving to shoulder him out of the way, but for a moment all Benson could see was a sea of blue and lips so pink and full they were just begging to be abused.  Then Oska was roughly shoving past him and marching up the stairs.  Andrew gave the agents one last hard look before following him up.

Benson took a couple of short breaths and licked his lips.  He kind of hoped he never saw Oska Mercer again.  Even if that meant the guy left right now and locked him and Jordan in a funeral home overnight.

“Benson?”

Benson turned around and saw that Jordan had already put on a thick apron and had just barely managed to squeeze his giant paws into a pair of XL size latex gloves.  Benson put on an apron as well and had a bitch of a time trying to squeeze his hands into size medium gloves.  Medium was the only size Andrew had in nitrile.  Benson was allergic to latex and that was an allergy that made shopping for condoms unpleasant and expensive.

Jordan stood on one side of the body and looked at him.  Benson could see the discomfort and mounting anxiousness in his eyes.

“You ever worked with a body before?”

Jordan shook his head.

“You ever  _seen_  a body before?”

“Just the ones at The Farm.”

“Well, this should be worse than TV, but better than The Farm.”

Jordan nodded.  Benson gingerly grasped the top of the sheet and pulled it all the way down to the corpse’s feet.  They froze for a moment, staring at the killer’s handiwork.

The body was misshapen from a lot more than just decay.  The eyes were sunk into the skull, the skin pulled back from the hairline and the fingernails.  There was a general sense of flatness that came from gravity’s pull on the remains that had lost its vitality.  But that was common at six days out.  Even with the blood removed from the body, and the large hole stitched up in her chest with a large gauge needle that housed the plastic bag that held her internal organs, it was clear that the body had been absolutely mutilated.  Bruises, cut, tears, rips…Benson shuddered and looked away from one gash in her right arm.  Dr. Reading hadn’t lied: her throat had been cut into ribbons, still connected on either end to the body.  Everywhere he looked there was some violation, some sadistic experiment, some sick curiosity satisfied.

Benson forced his brain to stop seeing the whole.  To only focus on one part at a time.  He looked up at Jordan.

“Heads or tails?”

Jordan gulped and looked down at the body.  He looked at her feet, and then her head.

“Heads, I guess.”

“Check everywhere.  Scalp.  Inside her ears.  Inside her mouth.  Look in her throat; see if he branded her inside.  Those cuts he made are something new.”

Jordan nodded, visibly steeled his resolved, and moved to stand at the top of the table.  He tentatively began to comb through her once blonde hair.  Benson moved to her feet and picked one up.  He carefully looked over the bruised skin, making sure nothing was hidden in the discoloration.  Then he pulled her toes apart one by one to check the skin hidden in between.  Finding nothing, he began the slow process of inspecting the splotchy skin of the tops of her feet, her soles, her ankles, her shins and calves.  Benson had reached her knees and had counted no less than three hundred individual cuts and slices into her body.  He stood up, wincing as his back protested the movement and twisted gently side to side to stretch out the cramp that had formed over the last half hour.  Jordan stopped his work on her throat when he saw Benson stand and stretched out his kinks as well.

"Anything?" Benson asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not yet."

"Did you check her mouth?"

"Yeah.  I looked at her tongue and the insides of her cheeks, but I didn't see anything."  Jordan chewed on the corner of his lip, but didn't speak again.

"What, Jay?"  Benson hoped the nickname would soften his question since his exhaustion was coloring his tone.

"Do you really think if it were him, he would hide the brand so carefully?"

 _No_ , Benson's internal voice told him.  "I don't know," he said aloud.  "I mean, he did blatantly display their crimes as a way of proving they deserved his punishment.  It doesn't make sense that he would hide the crime—unless he was trying to mask that it was him.  But this guy is a narcissist.  He _wants_ to be noticed.  He'd love nothing more than for everyone to know that he is killing again.  If he ever stopped.  I wonder if we should comb through the unsolved murders in whatever town in Missouri that coffin went missing from."

"But, why would he switch to premade coffins?  The care he took in the original three—it just doesn't—" Jordan trailed off, not finishing his thought.

So Benson finished it for him, "Seem like this is our guy."

Jordan started to speak, perhaps to refute what they were both thinking, but then decided not to bother.

"Alright," Benson said, "let's just finish checking over the body and maybe we can get a flight back to DC in the morning."

They continued their search in less detail, and it was with great reservation that Benson pushed the corpse's thighs apart and began to inspect the labia.  It seemed kind of disrespectful to do this to her if he wasn't really expecting to find anything.

"You think it's possible to even get something to settle flatly on the roof of the mouth?" Jordan muttered, Benson assumed, to himself.

Benson heard the disturbing resistance of the stiff jaw as Jordan pried it open again.  The body shifted a little as he tilted the head back and Benson leaned down to inspect the flesh in between the opening to the vagina and the anus.  He should probably turn the body completely over to inspect the skin around the anus.  He looked up to tell Jordan to help him flip the body—and froze.  Jordan was pulling the tongue up and out of the mouth to look at the skin of the mouth underneath.  On the underside of the tongue were sharp black marks.  Benson walked forward, not taking his eyes from the marks.

"I don't see anything under here," Jordan said, disappointment evident in his voice as he released the tongue.  Benson's hand darted out and grabbed the muscle and Jordan started in surprise, not having noticed Benson's approach.  Benson pulled the tongue out as far as he could and bent it back.

There, burned into the graying flesh, was the word **WITCH**.

 

**Wednesday, September 18, 2013**

 

Benson was pacing the small room with his Blackberry to his ear and his personal cell phone in his other hand, thumb roving the touch screen.  Jordan couldn’t tell which cell phone was causing him to make such an annoyed face; possibly it was both.  It was only mid-morning but Benson’s coat was already discarded in a chair, his tie loosened, and shirt sleeves rolled up.  Jordan wanted to feel excited for his first real field case, but he was just nervous.  With the discovery of the brand last night, shit suddenly got real.

He decided not to think about the stormy scene that had taken place between Benson and Officer Mercer after they’d come barreling up the stairs with their news.  Benson hadn’t been the most tactful in explaining what he’d found and Mercer had looked to be about three seconds away from punching him in the face.  Instead he considered how impressive and efficient the Elton Police Department was.  The next morning a room had been cleared for the FBI’s use.  Two desks had been placed against one wall, leaving space for both Benson and Jordan to work and to set up the field laptops the agents from the Portsmouth RA were bringing.  Three whiteboards had been crammed against the opposite wall, and one was set up with the DC victims.

Father Isaac Dolan, Jeanine Tirro, and Walter Feldman.  Each had a headshot as they appeared in life taped to the board and underneath was written the facts of their individual cases.  Next to Feldman's, Benson had left a space and written “Missouri?” in blue marker.  The second whiteboard had a single picture on it: a stunningly beautiful blonde with the name Natalia Smith.  The details of her case were listed beneath her picture.  Jordan looked at the empty space to the right of her picture and the completely blank third board.  He prayed to god that those boards wouldn’t fill up with more pictures and that they could solve this with the information they already had.

Benson passed in front of him one more time and it cleared Jordan’s blurred vision.  He focused on the victims again.  Above each photo was written a pair of words:  Molester: Gabrael, Abuser: Kael, Depraved: Raguel, Witch: Akael.  They were still waiting to hear back from the local clergy and religious scholars if there was any significance to these names individually or in combination.  Jordan had gone ahead and conducted a Google search on Akael, but so far had only turned up Facebook and blog pages and a user name on YouTube with no videos associated with the account.  He’d done a Bing search afterwards just to compare, but all Bing had done was provide him pages that had information on things that were spelled similarly, but not the same.  He’d dig a little deeper later, but right now he was rereading the case notes from the three DC murders so he’d appear knowledgeable when the Portsmouth agents showed up.

After another half hour, Benson had stopped pacing and was sitting at his new desk away from home.  His Blackberry was set aside and he was poking at his personal phone’s screen.  Jordan leaned forward in his chair just a bit to see if he was playing a game or something.

“Agents.”

Jordan jumped to his feet and could see Benson’s face go from surprise at his swift action, to unhidden amusement at his puppy-like nature.  Jordan hated to acknowledge other people’s assessment of his personality being doglike, but there it was.

They turned to face the entrance to the room and Gus stood in the door with two people in dark suits.  Feds.  There were a lot of incorrect stereotypes about the FBI and the suits were kind of one of them.  A lot of agents took advantage of the “business casual” policy most field offices had if they were expecting to be riding the desk all day with paperwork.  But out in public: ugly, ill-fitting suits and bland ties were almost a required uniform.

“I found these two out wandering the halls,” Gus said pleasantly, “thought they might belong to you.”

The man and woman behind him sent glares at the back of his head.

“I’ll see if I can get a hold of our IT guy and send him over here to hookup your equipment.  I’ll let you all get acquainted, but then I’d like to have a joint meeting so we can discuss how you would like to proceed with the case and what resources you’ll need from us.”

“That sounds about right,” said the male agent who was average height with a small bald spot, but with beard enough to make up for it.  “Probably aim for after lunch.”

Gus nodded.  “It’s a date.  If you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got a squirrel-licker to book.”

Gus looked at Benson, and Jordan thought he might have flushed a little at the reminder of the disturbance from yesterday.   When they’d arrived that morning Benson had been shanghaied into the chief’s office with a closed door for a solid hour.  Jordan had worried the entire time.  He wasn’t that familiar with Benson yet even though he felt they’d clicked pretty instantly in terms of personality, but he did think Benson had a bit of temper and had a hard time keeping it to himself.  Fortunately he’d had the distraction of setting up the whiteboards per Benson’s instructions, and a thoughtful officer had stopped by with coffee for both of them.  The officer had been friendly, though Jordan sensed he was a little disappointed he didn’t get to meet Benson as well.  He even stayed and talked for a good thirty minutes, but eventually had to return to his duties before Benson came back from his meeting with Gus.  When he did come back, he didn’t seem to be upset or embarrassed, so Jordan assumed it had been a good talk and had wisely decided not to ask about specifics.

Gus gave Jordan a nod as well and then left the new agents.  The man stepped forward and introduced himself as ASAC James Muff.  From knowing him for all of thirty seconds Jordan could tell he was gruff and a man of few words.  He was also clearly someone who wouldn’t put up with anyone's shit.  The woman was pretty with long dark hair in a high ponytail and a petite figure displayed rather nicely in a well-tailored black pantsuit.  These thoughts zipped in and right out of Jordan’s head as she stepped forward and gave them both a strong, confident handshake.  She introduced herself as SA Antoinette Russo, and the intelligent glint in her eye and no-nonsense attitude immediately incurred respect.

“I read over the cases in the database,” she began, “but of course I’d like to hear your impressions as the original investigator.  Also, I haven’t seen any of the material for the case that happened here.  Do you have copies?”

“Well, I have  _a_  copy,” Benson answered.  “The locals haven’t been too interested in making copies for us, but you’re welcome to read over all the notes I have.  Also, I would like to ask if you, or ASAC Muff, are taking point on the case.  I have no problem with that since this is your jurisdiction.”

His face and voice were calm and professional, but Jordan saw the way his fingers were twitching at his side.  He would  _not_  be okay if he was reduced to a secondary on this case.

“No,” Russo responded.  “This is your case.  I’m here to assist you in any way I can.  James is here to get the lay of the land and a firsthand account of the case, but I’ll be your primary liaison to the Portsmouth RA.”

Muff had meandered over to the whiteboards and was looking over the victim summaries.

“So, tell me again what it was that made you so sure this is the same guy?  Aside from the obvious?”

Benson, Jordan, and Russo moved to stand in a small semi-circle near Muff.

“I’ll start with the least important reason first, sir,” Benson began, “but quite frankly it’s because—I just  _knew_  it was him.”

Muff raised an eyebrow but made no comment.  If anything, he looked a little pleased with that reason.

“Secondly, the violence and the torture and the exploration of the corpse have similar signatures.  I’ve spoken with some of the people in Martinsburg and asked if handwriting similarities are restricted to what a person does with pen and paper, and they said no.  So, I’ve sent pictures of the angel name carvings down to them for a comparison, but they look identical to me.  What really clinched it for me was the brand we found on the latest victim.  The fact that the killer was carving angel names into the victims’ chests was released to the public—”

“I guess that’s why the ridiculous moniker ‘Angel Slayer’ was adopted,” Muff grunted.

Benson made a face acknowledging how stupid he thought the name was too, and then continued, “But the branding of the victims ‘crimes’ was kept out of the paper.  So we had something to identify copycats with and to make sure any confessions we got were real ones.

“The brands appear to be carved out of a single piece of metal specifically for use on each victim depending on their crime.  It’s speculation mostly, but we thought at the time that the brand is the first thing he does to the victims.  He lets them know what crime they are guilty of and that is why they are being punished.  He sees himself as punishing the wicked and giving them what they deserve.

“Now, we were never able to prove it definitively, but I believe that all three DC victims were somehow linked.  That they knew each other or had some common connection amongst them.  The second victim’s son’s girlfriend attended the same church that Father Dolan preached at.  I just can’t accept that that’s a coincidence.”

Russo shrugged a dubious shoulder.  “Seems like a stretch to be honest.”

“I know it is.  And unfortunately we couldn’t find a link with either of them to the third victim, but we also never got access to the list of people who were victims of his clients.  But I feel that since they all somehow involved children that there was one common link, or a chain, that led him to his new victims.  He identifies his targets by whatever their sin is.  And if we can figure how he’s determining or finding out what these people’s crimes are, we might—”

“Stop saying that!” someone shouted from behind them.  The small group turned to see Officer Mercer fuming in the doorway.  “She didn’t commit a crime!  She’s not guilty of anything!  She didn’t deserve this!”

Jordan saw Benson’s eye twitch in annoyance and he almost reached out a hand to stop him from approaching the other man.  The last thing they needed was to cause another scene.

“I’m not saying she did,” Benson said sharply, “all I’m saying is that  _he_  thinks she did.  And there has to be  _some_  reason why he does.”

“Yeah, he’s a crazy fucking serial killer!”

“He doesn’t pick his targets arbitrarily!  Something draws them to him.  He has a god complex; he thinks he’s doing god’s work.  He’s punishing the wicked.  He can’t just punish innocent people.  He has to believe there’s something that they did—”

“And I’m telling you, you shit, Natalia has done nothing to draw this killer’s eye!  I can’t believe you’re fucking blaming the victim!”

Mercer started to turn like he was going to leave them with that as his last words, but Benson’s hand shot out and clamped tightly around his wrist.  Jordan raised his eyebrows.  He could have gone for the shoulder or upper arm, and if there was anything his lessons at the Behavioral Science Unit had taught him about body language, it was that touching another person’s wrist was an oddly intimate way of getting their attention.  Whatever his reasons for reaching for Mercer’ wrist, he then used his grip to drag Mercer across the room.  Benson stood him in front of the DC board.

“Look at this,” Benson said, voice a little softer, a little calmer.  “Molester.  A priest who abused children.  He was wildly beaten.  A lot of the damage was done before death and it was sloppy.”  Benson pulled Mercer slightly to the right.

“This woman abused her children.  She was tortured while she was still alive, and only after death were precision cuts made.”  Once more to the right.  “This one helped set pedophiles back loose on the streets.  He died too fast, so everything was more carefully done; his body became a playground.”  Benson pointed to the word Missouri.

“He disappeared for over eight years, but he didn’t stop killing.  He couldn’t have.  In these eight years he’s learned to enjoy his kills.  He takes more pleasure in them.”  Benson stepped to his right again, placing himself in front of Natalia’s picture and description so Mercer couldn’t see it and was forced to meet Benson’s eyes.  “Now…now he’s truly found his niche.  He…was  _experimenting_  on her.  Enjoying his handiwork.  Able to conduct it calmly while they’re still alive.  Something he hadn’t done previously.  The torture is the thrill now…not the punishment.  But he can’t just torture for fun.  In his head they have to deserve it.  He has to have some reason, no matter how big a pile of bullshit it may be, to do what he does.  So he finds them ‘guilty’ of a crime.  And he may grasp at straws to do it, but there  _has_  to be  _something_ that makes him see it.”

Benson drew breath to speak again, but then stopped, and just looked at Mercer.  They stared for a moment, and then Mercer dropped his eyes to the corner of the whiteboard’s marker ledge.  Benson dropped his eyes too, but not to the floor.  Jordan could have sworn he was staring at Mercer’ lips.  Which, that was both good and bad.  Good in that he clearly didn’t have competition for Allegria’s attention now, and very, very bad because Jordan couldn’t think of a worse person for Benson to crush on than an angry, volatile cop who was the brother of one of the victims of the case they were working.

“Oska,” Benson said softly, and their eyes met again.  “It would help us catch him if we could figure out  _how_  he’s choosing his victims.  There has to be…something…”

He trailed off and Mercer’ jaw muscles ticked in anger, annoyance, grief—it was hard to tell.  Then his features softened as a realization washed over him.

“She—she was into that new age crap.  Crystals and oils and incense and little tiny gongs.  She was a huge environmental advocate.  An almost literal tree-hugger.”

Benson nodded thoughtfully.  “And new age crap and nature is often associated with the Wiccan religion.  And by extension, witches and witchcraft.”

The room was quiet for a moment.  And then Mercer let out a soft, bitter laugh.

“Well, glad I could be of help,” he said harshly before walking out of the room abruptly.

Benson raised a hand and opened his mouth, but didn’t go after him and didn’t speak.  He shook his head slightly and looked at the small group of agents.

“Well, that does help.  Someone who does new age practices was enough to trigger his sense of heavenly justice, so—”

“Do you really think that’s what it is?” Muff interrupted.  “I mean, do you really think this angel fruitcake  _believes_  he’s doing god’s work?”

“I don’t think he thinks he’s talking to god or anything, but I think he truly feels righteous.”

“As if he wasn’t dangerous enough,” Russo said dryly.

“Exactly,” Benson agreed with a brisk nod.  “In fact, I think the best way we can deal with this is not to release to the public that this in fact the—” Benson let out a small annoyed sigh “—Angel Slayer.  Right now he’s trying to keep a low profile.  I think he has for over eight years now.  If he finds out the police, or the FBI, are onto him again, he’ll escalate.  Quickly.”

Jordan chuckled as he had a Ron Burgundy flashback.  Muff, Russo, and Benson glanced at him.  Jordan cleared his throat and tried to look pensive as he crossed his arms and asked what he hoped was an intelligent enough question to distract them from his lapse in professionalism.

“So, do you think he’s been traveling around the country this whole time?  Do you think he’s already left the area?”

Benson made a face.  “I’ve been trying not to consider that possibility.  We don’t have an extended pattern, but maybe he kills in threes.  But this is such a small town; it wouldn’t make sense to stay here where a stranger would stick out like a sore thumb.  Especially if the locals keep turning up dead.”

Russo tilted her head slightly.  “Maybe he’s not a stranger.  Have you talked to the police chief about new people in town?  And I mean, I know it’s a small town, but it still has a population of five thousand.  I wouldn’t expect for everyone to literally know everyone else.”

Benson looked hard at Russo, but Jordan didn’t think he was really seeing her.  “Not a stranger…” he mused softly.  Then he gave a slight shake of his head.  “We shouldn’t rule it out, but I’m disinclined to believe that he’s from here.  Or any of the places where he’s killed.”

“How about the town where that priest had his first assignment?” Muff suggested.

“Springdale, Arkansas.  Maybe.  But I don’t think he was personally abused by the priest.”

“But I thought you said these beatings and torturing were personal,” Russo said.  “Why would he do that to a priest that didn’t personally hurt him or at least someone he knew?”

Benson deflated a little.  “I’ll be honest; we just don’t understand this guy’s motivations well enough yet.  It could be that he finds their crimes personally offensive.  Could just be he’s a sick fuck.”

“I think that’s the one thing we can declare to be fact in this case,” Muff said crustily.

Benson’s eyes flicked to Muff, but he didn’t say anything.  Russo stepped around them and began examining the whiteboards.

“I think you’re right, Agent Remick.”

“Benson,” Benson said softly.

“Benson.  I think he really is constrained by finding victims that have—to his mind—done something wrong.  He needs victims that are deserving of their punishment.  I think it’s the crime that he’s fixating on.  The victim—who they are as a person—is not really important at all.”  She turned around, ponytail swishing.  “This will make it so much harder to catch him if we can’t identify his victims.  Not without knowing his thought process.  Is there a common thread to the crimes at all?”

“Well, the first three involved children.  This last one?” He shrugged a shoulder.  “If new age crystal crap makes her a witch, I don’t see how that could really affect children.”

Jordan twitched as he had an epiphany.  Everyone caught the movement and looked at him.

“She’s a teacher,” Jordan said, turning away to grab her file from Benson’s desk.  He thumbed through it until he found the page recording her personal details including her occupation.  “She was an elementary school teacher.  Maybe he thought she was teaching her new age stuff to them.  Corrupting the children with witchcraft.”

Benson snapped a finger and then pointed it at Jordan.  “Yes, Jay!  Good catch.”

Benson walked over to the third whiteboard and on the far right side wrote “children” in green marker.  Then under it in black he wrote smaller “failed protector” followed by two question marks.

“I think we should—”

“Before we get too embroiled in all that,” Muff interrupted, “is there anywhere around here I can get some decent lunch?”

“Nell’s,” Benson and Jordan said in unison.

They shared a smile.  Then Benson told Muff and Russo they would take them to a local place for lunch while he rolled down his shirt sleeves and collected his suit jacket.  Jordan organized the files neatly on the trays on Benson’s desk.  The man had a system and he already dreaded what would happen to him if he messed it up.

The four of them had lunch at Nell’s, and Jordan decided to branch out and try the “chowder” though there was no indication if it was clam, crab, or other.  It was delicious, but he couldn’t taste out the source of the meat either.  He kept his flirting with Allegria to a minimum since ASAC Muff was present, but he did hand her one of his cards with his Blackberry number on it when he covered the bill on his government credit card.

Back at the station they had a lengthy meeting with Chief Lanoue and Detective Russell Little who had been assigned the case before the feds were called in.  He was average height, average looks, with brown hair and eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard.  Jordan recognized him as the detective who had brought him and Benson coffee that morning.  Now it made sense why he’d been interested in meeting them—they were the federal dicks that had snaked his case.  Jordan didn’t think Benson was particularly thrilled about it, but he had agreed to Little working the case with them.

A large portion of their planning session was discussing whether the Elton PD forensic team would handle any future crime scenes or if the FBI’s ERT should be brought in.  Benson had stopped the unending circle of the argument by saying they shouldn’t anticipate another crime scene.  They should be working with what they had now to catch the guy before another crime scene could be made.  They all agreed with this point, though none of them spoke aloud what they were all thinking: they had no suspects and no evidence that pointed to one.  They actually  _needed_  another crime scene.

It was after six o’clock when they finally called it a day; Muff and Russo had to drive an hour back to Portsmouth and Jordan and Benson had been at the station since seven in the morning.  They still agreed to meet back in Elton at seven thirty tomorrow morning.  Muff said more than likely he wouldn’t return the rest of the week as he had meetings to attend, but he’d try to get out next week.  Russo shook their hands firmly and Jordan found that he really liked her.  She was smart, unafraid to jump into a case feet first, and thus far unflappable; those were traits he admired in an agent and aspired to himself.

He and Benson were leaving their appointed office space when he remembered his overcoat was hanging in the corner.  He thought it was supposed to be colder today.  It wasn’t.

“Oh, hey, Benson, hold up.  I need to get my coat.  I’ll lock the door.  Here.”  Jordan tossed him the keys to the Accent.

Benson frowned at them and Jordan just smiled at his utter distaste for their rental car.  He said goodnight to the swing shift crew in the bull pen and was less than a minute behind Benson as he exited the building, so he saw him change his direction abruptly.

“Oska!” Benson called out and approached Mercer as he was unlocking the K9 vehicle's backdoor for Bunny.  Benson jogged up to him and then, good for him, didn’t stand too awkwardly beside him.  “Hey.  Look, I really am sorry about this afternoon.  I hope you know that I understand how difficult—”

“Agent Remick,” Mercer cut him off sharply.  “I don’t think you really understand anything of what I’m feeling, to be honest.  And I don’t think we’ve reached a level of intimacy in our relationship that warrants us being on a first name basis.”

Jordan sucked some air through his teeth.  Ouch.  Benson looked just as taken aback.

“Apologies, Officer Mercer,” Benson said completely blandly.  That was even worse than if he’d been cold or angry about it.

Benson turned and walked to their rental car.  Jordan saw the mental kick Mercer gave himself as he watched Benson walk away.  Bunny let out a soft, grunting whine and the officer looked down at her.  Based on Mercer’ abashed reaction to her, Jordan didn’t feel crazy for thinking Bunny was disappointed with him.

“I know, I know,” Mercer muttered and opened the backdoor for Bunny to hop in.

Jordan walked across the parking lot, acting like he hadn’t witnessed anything.  Because he hadn’t, right?  That certainly hadn’t been proof that K9 Officer Oska Mercer may very well reciprocate Benson’s interest.  Right?  Because, while cerebrally interesting, that could be the worst possible thing to happen.


	2. Damael

**Thursday, September 19, 2013**

 

“Worst possible thing that could happen,” Jordan muttered.  “Why do people even have thoughts like that?”

“What?” Benson asked as he glanced at Jordan.

“Nothing,” the younger agent grunted and stepped around the two small, yellow placards that read seven and eight and marked where chunks of flesh had been flung from the body on the plush, white carpet.

Benson allowed his eyes to wander the scene again.  The house they were in was large and opulent and probably only used as a vacation home in the warmer months.  The furniture was light colored birch or pine, the carpeting white, and the upholstery, curtains, and décor were all varying shades of ivory, beige, and ecru.  It made it much easier to see all the splashes of rusty brown around the room.

The nude body was balanced lengthwise on the side of a knocked over coffee table, arms spread out in a mockery of crucifixion.  Or maybe that’s just the way they naturally fell.  Fist size chunks of muscle, skin, and fat had been cut or ripped from the body and flung in all directions.  Some of the fingers and toes had been cut off with varying degrees of meticulousness—and Benson was sure the ME would tell him that some were before and some were after death.  Bloody bald patches dotted the skull where hair had been torn from the roots.  The face was beaten in beyond recognition.  They were going to need to conduct dental or DNA identification to verify that the victim was the owner of the house, Davis Thompson.  His chest bore the name Damael.  And brazenly branded onto his forehead—no pretense at hiding now—was his crime: Blasphemer.

Benson rubbed his eyes for the fifth time that morning.  It was 5:47; the sun was barely making its presence known on the horizon visible through the open front door.  Gingerly stepping over the threshold into the house, Dr. Reading made her appearance.  Benson waved her over.  He hadn’t decided yet whether he wanted the local PD or the FBI to handle the evidence collection, but he’d been impressed enough with Dr. Reading’ report on Natalia Smith that he wanted her to conduct any further autopsies.  Dr. Reading reached his side and made hard eye contact, and wouldn’t look anywhere else.  Odd behavior for a medical examiner actually.

“Don’t often go to the crime scenes?” Benson asked gently.

Dr. Reading shook her head.  “No.  I usually don’t see them until they’re on my table.  Makes it easier to not see them.  Which sounds really callous.”

“No, I get it.  Thank you for coming out.  I want you to a do a once over before we move him to make sure a shift in position doesn’t alter or mask anything.”

She bobbed her head determinedly.  “That makes sense.”

Benson put a reassuring hand to her elbow.  “You’ll be fine, Dr. Reading, I promise.”

“Nic,” she said a little forcefully.

Benson smiled tightly.  “Nic.  I’ll be right here.  Just focus on the details for now, not the whole.  That’s my job.”

Nic nodded and moved closer to the body to begin her preliminary examination.  Jordan completed his third circuit of the room that morning and stood by Benson.  Benson crossed his arms over his chest, allowing his eyes to sweep slowly over the room.

“Jordan.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me, what do you see?”

“No sign of forced entry.  The victim either left the door open or knew the attacker and invited him in.  That is when pleasantries ceased.  The struggle was wild, violent.  The assailant was definitely not significantly stronger or bigger than the victim.  By the time the torture began and the brand was applied to the forehead, the victim was either subdued or unconscious, but still alive.”

“Very good.  Now, think about the whiteboards.  Think about the crime scenes themselves, not just the victims.  What do you see here?”

Jordan looked around the room.  Furniture was upended, glass shattered, stains that weren’t just blood covered both horizontal and vertical surfaces.  This was his first live crime scene regarding this case.  He’d seen the pictures, but he wasn’t sure what he wasn’t seeing.  He knew Benson was trying to lead him somewhere.

“What is it?”

Benson dragged his teeth across his lower lip, his eyes jumping as they darted around the room.

“Well, first off, all of the previous crime scenes haven been dump sites.  This is the kill location.  So it’s possible that the initial struggle with the other victims was this violent as well.  But what I’m seeing here is a loss of control.  All of those crime scenes were spotless.  This one—I don’t know what it will be or where we’ll find it—but something is turning up from here.”  Benson made a clicking sound with his tongue.  “Why the loss of control?  He was getting better at it.  He was perfecting it.  Why the step back?”

“Excitement maybe,” Jordan said with a sour taste in his mouth.  “I think he knows it’s not a secret anymore.  This is a message for us.  Maybe even a challenge.”  Jordan took a step forward and turned enough to catch Benson’s eye.  “Do you think it could be laid out like this for you?  Would he know you worked the cases in DC?”

Benson startled at the suggestion and felt his jaw drop slightly.  Was that possible?  Would the killer actually know who he was personally?  He felt a chill run down his spine and shuddered with it.

“Maybe.  That might explain why he decided to kill again so soon after the last one.  And why he didn’t bother to try to hide his signatures.  The Elton PD was very good about keeping the information about the angel name out of the press.  And we only just found out that it  _is_  him when we found the brand.  So, he didn’t get pulled back into the spotlight.  No…he shined it on himself.”

Jordan turned even closer toward him and murmured softly, “So do you think that means we can narrow down the list of suspects to people who have seen us in town?”

Benson gave Jordan a wry smile.  “That’d be nice if we could.  And while we haven’t been all over the place, we could never know who was standing across the street at any given moment.  Also, while the details of the murder have been kept under wraps, I think FBI involvement made the news.  He may just think it’s fun the FBI is involved at all and has no clue of who I am.”

Jordan dropped his gaze and stepped back, looking a little embarrassed.  It hadn’t been a terrible theory, just not thought out to completion.  Jordan was learning, and trying to think around the edges of the box at least.  Benson was becoming more and more convinced that the "place holder" that had been sent with him had been grossly underestimated by their SSA.

“Agents.”

Benson turned and saw Detective Little escorting Agent Russo, Ann as they’d come to know her, into the room.  Even though four was definitely a crowd, Benson would gladly keep Jordan on the case.  Ann had already proven herself to be a valuable asset and remarkably gracious in her willingness to act as secondary investigator.  So, that left Little.  Benson didn’t know enough about him yet to know if he was going to be a help or a hindrance, but in the spirit of cooperation (and the fact that he’d already pissed off the police chief) Benson was going to make an effort to include the detective in the investigation.  He greeted both with a nod.

“Good morning, Ann.  Detective Little.”

“You can just call me, Russ.  I’m not sure if you noticed, but formality is a little absent in the Elton Police Department.”

Benson smiled at the detective.  “I guess it depends on the person,” he said wryly.

Russ tilted his head in thought and then let out a little “ah” of understanding.  “Mercer.  Yeah.  He’s more proper than most of us, but I promise you, he’s usually not that much of dick.  He… he and his sister were close.”

Benson felt his face warm up.  Had people seen that little exchange in the parking lot yesterday?    “I didn’t mean—” He cleared his throat.  “At any rate, as long as we have an understanding amongst each other.  I think it’s more important to focus on the case and not have to worry about formality and tiptoeing around each other’s sensibilities.  And to that end,” Benson turned slightly apologetic eyes on Ann, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but my squad back in DC is all men.  And I just know I’m going to say something stupid at some point—” Benson cut off at the pointed look Ann gave him.

“Benson, I have five brothers.  I’m certain there’s not much you could do that would offend me.”

He grinned at her.  “Famous last words before I get my ass OPR-ed.”

Benson, Ann, and Jordan laughed, and Russ blinked at the unfamiliar acronym.  Then the trio immediately cut off their laughter and put on stern faces as the other people in the gruesome crime scene turned to see who was laughing.

“Uh, Ann and Russ, if you want to take a look around the crime scene, Jordan and I have already been here a while.”

Ann and Russ nodded and moved further into the room.  Benson looked at Jordan and said under his breath, “Quick lesson from your mentor: try not to laugh at crime scenes.”

Jordan ran his tongue over his teeth, and it kind of masked his attempt not to smile.

“Agent Remick, Jordan,” Nic got their attention as she approached them, snapping off a pair of latex gloves.

“Why am I ‘Agent’ and he’s ‘Jordan?’”

Nic thought for a moment.  “I don’t know.  Your name seems more intimate somehow.  Probably because it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It is a little.  Anyway, Benson, Jordan.  I think I’ve seen what I need to here.  The photographers have gotten every angle and the forensics team wants to examine the table now.  So, I think we’re ready to move the body.  There are definitely some things I need my lab for to get a better picture of what happened.  For one thing, his fingertips are discolored.  I have a suspicion of what that might be from, but I need to verify it before I start throwing out theories.”

“What’s your best estimate for time of death?” Jordan asked.

“Well, that’s a little tricky you know.  There’s no rigor, but that could mean it’s already passed or it hasn’t set in yet.  The lividity patterns suggest he died in the position he’s in now.  There is a wide variety of coloration in the bruising and some scabbing, so I think it’s possible he was kept alive and tortured for several days before he was killed.  My guess is that death happened sometime last night.  But, I couldn’t swear to that.  Not right now anyway.”

“But wait a minute,” Jordan said, “We’re pretty certain this is not a dump site.  If he was kept alive and tortured here for days—how come no one noticed?”

“Davis is a snow bird.  Florida in the winter, summers up here.  Being September, it’s possible people thought he’d already headed back down south.  He’s a widower, so he lived here alone.”

“I don’t suppose you’d know why he would have been branded as a blasphemer, do you?” Benson asked.

“Very vocal atheist.”

“Ah.  Well, that explains that.”

“Any connection to children?” Jordan asked.

“Not that I know of.  And I don’t think he has any of his own.”

Ann and Russell returned from their circuit of the room.

“They’re getting ready to move the body now,” Russ said.  “Unless there’s something more you’d like to do here, I suggest we reconvene at the station and discuss what we’d like to do there.  I already have several officers canvassing the neighbors to find out if they saw or heard anything.  I think Thompson had a maid service, but we’ll need his credit card records to verify which one so we can identify who to speak with.”

Benson gave Russ a pleased nod of agreement.  He was starting to think the local detective would fit in nicely on this team.

“I picked Ann up at the station when she arrived this morning, so she doesn’t have a car.  Benson, you can ride back with me if you like.”

Benson just kept his eyebrows down and only briefly glanced at Jordan.

“Yeah, sure.”  He looked at Jordan and Ann.  “I’ll see you two back at the station.”

 

~~~

 

Jordan finished writing the word “chunks” on the last line of detail under Davis Thompson’s picture on the whiteboard.  He stepped back to compare this latest addition to the others.  Jordan definitely didn’t have OCD nor was he a slut for uniformity, but he was observant.  And Benson was a little bit of both of those things.  He turned around and saw Ann sitting at his desk, studying and using a marker to make notes on a printed set of the crime scene photos.  Benson was leaning back heavily in his chair, his head falling all the way back, fingers rubbing his eyes.  On the computer the Elton PD had provided them for Internet access was a webpage that had naked cherub gifs floating around the mystical meanings of angel names.  It didn’t look like Benson had had any Eureka! moments regarding the names Akael or Damael.

“Okay, I got it,” Russ announced as he appeared in the doorway.  “Marvelous Maids of Maine.”

Benson sat up and half turned, hanging an arm over the back of the chair.  “Is that just a name?  Or are we really that close to Maine?”

“Well, I think they’re incorporated out of Maine.  And we’re about half an hour from the border.”

“Hunh.”

“Anyway, they gave us the name of the maid who normally cleans for Thompson and she lives in the next town over.  I’ve called and set up an interview for 10:30.  Do you want me to take it?”

Before Benson could reply, Nic came up behind Russ and put a hand on his shoulder.  He stepped aside so she could come into the small taskforce center as well.

“Do you have something for us, Nic?”

“Yes, I do.  I mean, I still have a lot of work to do and I’m still not confident about a time of death right now except that I’d say there’s a more than average chance that it happened very late Tuesday night or very early Wednesday morning.  And if a neighbor hadn’t seen the open door, he may have sat there for quite some time.”

“Well, we can all be thankful that didn’t happen,” Ann said.

“Thankful,” Benson muttered.  “He left the door open on purpose.  He was done.  It was time to show off his work.  He’s such a child.”

“I don’t think this is the work of someone immature or unintelligent,” Russ said softly.

“Unintelligent?  No, not at all.  But immature?  Definitely.  Juvenile.  Puerile.  Asinine.”

“Okay, Word-a-Knight,” Russ chuckled.  “Got it.  Nic, you had some information for us?”

“Yes.  I verified that the discoloration on his fingertips, even the ones that were no longer attached, was from being soaked in bleach.”

“Why would he do that?” Jordan asked.

“Because I think Davis got a piece of him.  There was tissue under his nails, but none of it was salvageable.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Benson sighed.  “Why is he getting sloppier?”

Russ opened his mouth to speak, and then scratched behind his ear as he glanced at Jordan.  Jordan returned his silent shrug.  If they didn’t have a plausible answer, Benson probably didn’t want them to tell him they didn’t know.

“Well,” Ann said, “this did come right on the heels of the previous kill.  They’re barely a week apart.  Maybe he had a time crunch.  But why would he rush his next kill like this?”

Jordan answered, “Benson and I have considered that maybe he’s heard the FBI is now involved.  And it made him giddy.”

Ann made a face.  “God.  He is a child.”

“Okay,” Russ cut in.  “Maid.  The interview is in less than an hour and it will take at least twenty or thirty minutes to get there.  Who wants to go?”

“Um,” Benson pondered and then spotted Nic still in the room.  “Nic, thank you for the update.  Keep them coming.”

“Will do.”

Nic left the room and Benson continued with his assignments.

“Jordan and Ann, will the two of you go talk to the maid?  Ann, I know you know what to ask, and Jordan, I’d like you to get some interviewing experience in.”

Jordan nodded, not offended.  He knew he was still green when it came to criminal cases.

“Russ, I’m going to need you to take care of something a little sensitive for me.”

“Anything.”

“We need to see if there’s a connection between the victims at all.  And it would be best to start with family, then friends, and then coworkers.  And regarding the first victim’s family, I know you probably know the answer anyway, but I still feel like we should ask him directly rather than make it seem like we’re doing it behind his back.”

Russ nodded.  “You want me to talk to Oska.”

“Yeah.  Could you?”

Russ grinned.  “You’re not scared of Mercer, are you?”

“No.  But I am a little of Bunny.”

Russ laughed.  “Trust me, Agent.  The name matches the personality of that one.  But, I gotta say, I know the statistics say if you’re going to get murdered it’s most likely going to be by your nearest and dearest, but this really seems like the wrong tree here.  I don’t think Oska has even been outside of New Hampshire let alone been to DC.  Heck, the only time I think he’s been outside of Elton is when he went to Dartmouth.”

“Oh, I’m not suggesting—he went to Dartmouth?”

“Yeah.  Every three years or so our little town produces an Ivy Leaguer.”

“Hunh.”

Jordan barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.  Benson was getting even more enamored with his crush.  Geez.

“Anyway, I’m not suggesting you treat Os—Officer Mercer as a suspect.  I’m just curious to know if the victims have any connections to each other.  Of course, if he’s one of those connections, well, then we might need to pursue that if necessary.”

“Understood.  I think he’s off today.  So, I’ll start with Natalia’s coworkers and see if any of them know if she had dealings with Thompson.  They’re teachers as well, so maybe that might be a connection to children.  Are we still looking for that?”

“No,” Benson said swiftly.  “Not looking.  Never look for a clue you  _want_  to find because more than likely you’ll find it.   Let the evidence come in and sift it out to where it belongs.”

Russ smiled, looking impressed.  “They teach you that at the Academy?” he asked.

“Not in so many words,” Benson said.  “But, it’s always important to make sure the theory fits the facts and that you don’t try to make the facts fit your theory.”

“What are you gonna do, Benson?” Jordan asked.

Benson groaned.  “I’m going to keep looking into the angel names.  I have to get in touch with the local librarian again; he’s been pulling volumes that might be of interest and I need to swing by and pick them up at some point.  I’ve also got a couple of appointments with a local priest and a rabbi.  I know these names mean something.  They’re not remotely arbitrary.  I know it.”

“Are you sure you’re not fitting the facts to your theory?” Russ asked with a challengingly arched eyebrow.

Benson frowned at him.  “ _No_ , I’m not sure,” he said, exaggerating the annoyance in his voice so that everyone knew he was joking.

Russ just chuckled.  “Good luck with your research, Agent.”

Benson grunted as Russ handed Ann a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“This is the address of the maid.”

“Thanks," Ann said and Russ nodded and left the room.  Ann looked at Jordan.  “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Jordan responded.  He looked at Benson.  “You need anything before we go?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Jordan put his suit jacket on and followed Ann out into the bullpen.  It had actually gotten warmer and the jacket was a little stuffy, but he needed it to cover his weapon.  He glanced at Ann’s hips.  Her suit jacket was past her waist, but it seemed too tailored to be hiding a gun, handcuffs, and a cell phone.

The station was as quiet as it had been the first day he’d been there and Rachel had been replaced at the desk by Katie, a pretty blonde who was way overdo to have her roots done.  Normally Jordan couldn’t tell a real blonde apart from a bottled one, but two inches of dark brown hair growing out of the top of her head was a good clue.  He’d make a crack agent yet with observations like that.

Outside, Ann stopped on the sidewalk and turned to him.

“Do you think we can take your car?  I couldn’t get our squad car today and had to drive my POV.”

“We can, but Benson and I only have one—what do you mean your squad car?  You don’t have your own Bu car?”

Ann gave him a snarky smile.  “Excuse me Mr. Big Field Office Agent, sir.  We can’t all have the funds to give every agent their own car.”

“Oh, well,” Jordan flushed and looked at his toes.  “I mean, they’ll reimburse you for mileage, won’t they?”

“It’s not that…” Ann trailed off, a little embarrassed.

She led them over to a rusted piece of dull yellow scrap metal.

“Good lord.  What the hell is that?”

“It’s a 2001 Pontiac Aztec.”

“A what?”

“Exactly.  My dad said I could pick what car I wanted for my sixteenth birthday, within reason of course, and I don’t know what happened—it was yellow and sporty and cute and I—have never lived it down.”

“Or been able to afford a new car?  I mean, I know we’re government employees here, but we do get law enforcement pay on top of our salaries.”

“I know,” Ann said testily.  “I’ve just had—other expenses.”

“Like what?”

“None of your beeswax.  Can we take your rental so the Bureau doesn't roll up to an interviewee’s home in that?”

“God, yes.  Right this way.”

Jordan led them toward the, truthfully, only marginally better looking Accent and unlocked the doors with the key fob.  As they slid in and buckled up Ann asked, “You said you only have one car between the two of you?  Should I go back in and give Benson my keys?”

Jordan laughed.  “I doubt he’d be willing to get into that thing.  He can walk to Nell’s for lunch.  Besides, I imagine we’ll be back before he’s ready to call it a day.”

“Good points all.  Let’s roll.”

The first several minutes after departure were spent navigating out of town and entering the maid’s home address into the GPS device.  Once they hit the open highway though, a slightly awkward silence descended.  Jordan watched the trees rush past and strummed his fingers on the wheel.  He heard Ann inhale deeply and then let it out slowly.  More silence followed.

“So,” Jordan said, trying to sound conversational and not desperate for the silence to end.  “How did you find your way to the FBI?”

Ann smiled wryly.  “Nepotism.”

Jordan glanced at her with a smile.  “Really?”

She shrugged a shoulder.  "You know, I took the usual route.  College, BS office job for two years, applied to be an agent when I turned twenty-three, got in on the first try because I’m a third generation legacy.”

“Really?  Third generation?  How old are you?  Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay.  I’m twenty-eight.  My grandfather was in the Bureau from the 40s to the 60s.  My dad joined in 1977.  He still works at the Boston field office.  He’s an ASAC.”

“Are your brothers in the Bureau too?”

“One is.  Two are Marines and one is in the Navy.  I have a sister who works for the CIA and one for NSA.  And our littlest brother is still in college.”

“Shit—I’m mean, shoot—that’s a large family.”

Ann chuckled.  “It certainly was for me.  I was smack dab in the middle, so I never got to experience what it was like to have only one or two siblings in the house like the oldest and the youngest did.”

“Are you—Catholic or something?”

Ann shook her head, but thankfully she was still smiling.  “Just had two very lovey-dovey parents.  What about you?  Siblings?  Parental legacies to live up to?”

“Nope.  Only child raised by a single mother.  She was a teacher, so she always told me  _not_  to become one because you get paid shit to do a hard job with no gratitude.  So, I thought I’d do something that would make a lot of money and I got into computers.  I got a job as a software designer and did computer programming for five very long years.  On a whim I applied to become an agent—and fortunately kept my job while I did because that was a long ass process.”

“Tell me about it.  Being a legacy does not let you skip any of the steps.”

They both laughed, glanced at each other, and then away.  Silence fell again.  Fortunately before too much time passed, the GPS chimed and informed them of their exit.  A few minutes later they were pulling into the shared parking lot for a row of townhouses.  They made their way up the stairs for the one that was almost dead center and the reek of cigarette smoke permeated through the gaps in the doorframe.  Ann rang the doorbell.

The door opened a crack, revealing a pair of narrowed, suspicious eye.  Jordan and Ann flashed their credentials and the woman opened the door wider and invited them inside.  She was wringing her hands and looked like she hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.  The front room of the townhouse was sparsely furnished with old 80’s era pieces and the carpet was stained in several places.  The woman, Belinda Brighton, didn’t offer them any refreshments and when she sat down on an arm chair, they took that as an invitation to sit on the couch.

“Ms. Brighton,” Ann began.  “You’ve heard about Davis Thompson, correct?”

“Yes,” she whispered, twirling a piece of dingy blonde hair in her fingers.  “Can you imagine?  If I had walked in on the killer?  He might have done that to me!”

Both Jordan and Ann made sympathetic faces, but Jordan was wondering how much detail had made it into the papers.

“When is the last time you saw Mr. Thompson?” Ann asked.

“I double checked with my employer's records for you.  I was in Elton on September 10th, a Tuesday.  And I remember it myself because I usually clean for Mr. Thompson on Mondays.  But I took a job here on Monday to cover for—my friend.  She also works for the maid service.”

“What is her name?”

“Candice Guzdowski.”

“Thank you," Ann scribbled down the name on a small notepad.  "Did you actually see Mr. Thompson on that Tuesday, or did you just clean that day?”

“No, I spoke with him.  He was getting ready to head back down to Florida soon, so he wanted to arrange a cleaning of the fireplaces and the heating ducts.  He sometimes rents the house out in the winter.  Which is what made the following Monday so odd.  My boss had said he hadn’t contacted him regarding the extra cleaning, and when I got there, there was a note on the door telling me I wasn’t needed.  Usually he calls to cancel so I don’t have to drive all the way out there.  I should have known something was wrong then.  If I had gone to the police, he might still be alive!”

Ms. Brighton wrung her hands even tighter and let out a wheezing sound that Jordan wasn't sure if it was a sob or a very dry cough.  The smoky air couldn't be helping matters.

“Ms. Brighton," Ann said gently, "there was nothing you could have done.  You know the police wouldn’t check on a man because he left a note on his door.  You’re doing excellent by remembering all of this.  Can you tell me, did you recognize the handwriting?  Did it look like his?”

Ms. Brighton shook her head, looking distressed.  “I’m not sure.  He’d left a note a couple times asking for something to be cleaned that wasn't usually done.  And he wrote out checks for the service.  But—it didn’t strike me as being different.”

“Did you keep the note?”

Jordan tried not to tense with excitement.  That note could be the only break they needed.  It could tell them where the paper came from.  If the handwriting was that of the killer.  _Fingerprints_.

Ms. Brighton shook her head.  “No.  I took it off the door and left.  I know I crumpled it up and dropped it in the cup holder of my car, but then I threw it out with the trash at another client’s house.”

“Which client?”

“The Seecotts.  They live in Farmington.  But, that was their trash day.  It was collected by the garbage men I’m sure.”

Ann nodded.  “Probably.  But, we’ll still follow up with them just in case.  Can you tell me anything else that you noticed?  When you spoke with Mr. Thompson was he acting strangely?  When you found the note on Monday, were any doors or windows open?”

Ms. Brighton took the time to search her memories.  “He was definitely himself the last time I saw him.  And… I’m sorry.  I don’t remember anything being out of place.  Nothing major was or I would have noticed.  The house looked like it did any other day I cleaned it.  Except for the note on the door.”

“Thank you very much, Ms. Brighton, you've been a tremendous help.”

Jordan and Ann stood up and Ms. Brighton did as well.  Ann handed the woman her card.

"If you think of anything else, please feel free to call or e-mail me.”

The women turned the card over and over in her hands.  “I should have kept that note.  I should have done something.”

“Ms. Brighton,” Jordan said, stepping forward and laying a hand on her shoulder, “you did what anybody else would have done.  And you really have been a huge help today.”

He gave her an encouraging smile and turned on the puppy dog eyes.  The woman relaxed a little and gave him a small smile.  They said their goodbyes again and exited the townhouse.  They were barely in the car when Ann said, “You practice that look?”

Jordan chuckled and backed out of the parking space.  “Innate talent.”

Ann laughed and this time they fell into easy chatter on the drive back, which was a good thing when they found themselves slowing down to a complete halt  as the highway backed up in both lanes for as far as they could see.

“Oh, geez, look at that,” Ann murmured as she leaned forward in her seat to look around the giant SUV directly in her view.

“It’s okay,” Jordan said.  “Even if it moves slowly, our exit is only half a mile away.  We’ll be out of it soon.”

 

~~~

 

Benson checked his watch again.  Neither Jordan and Ann nor Detective Little were back from their interviews.  It’d been over three hours and he’d already gone to lunch and back.  Allegria had tried to convince him to try the meatloaf.  He told her he would next month.

Both the priest and the rabbi had come down to the station as they didn’t want to disturb their parishioners by having the feds clomp around, but neither had been helpful.  Neither was familiar with any of the angel names except Raguel, who was apparently an archangel, but not necessarily a seraph which is the highest order of angel.  The priest was both the most and least helpful.  Apparently all of two angels are actually named in the  _Bible_ , but Catholics have a whole list of angels and saints (that are not the same thing apparently) that have varying roles in heaven and on earth.  Benson had politely listened to personal accounts of angel interactions by people from his church and he’d learned a great deal about the classification and ordering of angels, but since he couldn’t apply any of this to the specific angels he was looking for it all seemed rather pointless.

He couldn’t believe he was having such a difficult time identifying these angels.  The killer had to learn them from somewhere.  He would have started to believe he was just making them up, but they had found the DC angels, so Benson believed that other two were real as well.  Or at least, someone somewhere had written about them and the killer hadn’t just made them up.  Unless, of course, Russ was right and he was just trying to make the facts fit his theory.  But how could that be the case?  He didn’t _have_ a fucking theory.  He didn’t have a suspect.  He didn’t even have a shifty eyed dude lurking about at crime scenes.  Benson threw a pen against the wall and it bounced back onto his desk.  His Blackberry rang.

“Remick speaking,” he answered, rubbing his eyes.

“Agent Remick?” a very quiet voice said in his ear.

“Yes, this is Benson Remick.”

There was some whispering.

“Hello?” he asked.

Just barely audible enough to be heard a woman said, “Hi.  It’s Emily.  From the library.  You called asking about texts on angels?”

“Oh, yes.  Someone—Daniel, David—I’m sorry I didn’t catch his name said he could get some materials for me and would let me take them out of the library.  Without checking them out,” he added, just in case she had grand plans of getting him a spanking new library card.

“Darren,” he just managed to hear if he held his breath.  “Yes, it’s all ready.  You can pick it up today, but we close early on Thursdays.  At three o’clock.”

Benson checked his watch again since he hadn’t even noticed the time the last time he did.  It was a quarter past two.  He grunted softly.

“Yeah, okay.  I can come get it now.  The library is on the same street as the police station, right?”

Whispering.

“Emily, can you speak up and say that again, please?”

Benson had to strain to hear, “Yes, on Main Street.  Next to the Dairy Freeze.  It’s not far at all.”

“Excellent.  I’ll be there shortly.”

Benson ended the call and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.  He was halfway out of the station before he realized Jordan had the rental car keys.  He slowed his walk and stepped outside in the warm September afternoon.  The Accent was missing from its parking spot.  Why hadn’t they taking Ann’s car?  He was about to head back in to beg a ride off someone when cattycorner to the police station he saw a Dairy Freeze.  Just to the right of that there was a sign for the Elton City Public Library.

“Hunh.”

Benson jogged across the street and down the half block to the library.  The tiny parking lot to the side of the building had one car in it.  He pulled open the glass door and walked past a glass foyer covered in children's drawing of their favorite books.  He caught a glimpse of a picture hidden toward the top that said, "My favorite book is Jean-Paul Sartre's _Nausea_ because inanimate objects like books take away my spiritual freedom and make me nauseated."  It was written in crayon, but clearly some smartass librarian or college kid home on break had created it.

Inside the library proper, Benson was stunned by the utter silence.  He saw now how wrong he was in thinking the police station was like a library.  In Elton, that quiet shuffling of papers and hushed voices was apparently the equivalent of high-paced chaos.  Benson actually found himself starting to tiptoe toward the circulation desk.

"Hello?" he called out in a voice barely above a whisper.

A girl popped up from behind the desk and Benson jumped back three feet in alarm.  She had a wild look about her face and wide eyes.  She was definitely in fight or flight mode and he wasn't sure which one was going to win.

"Em-Emily?" Benson asked carefully.

"Agent Remick?"

"Yes."

The girl relaxed and Benson wondered momentarily if she were high.  He didn't see a glaze over her eyes nor were they bloodshot, but she looked strung out all the same.  Maybe she was just a nervous, anxious person who lived in a perpetual stressed out state.  One of his brothers was like that.

"I'm, uh, here to pick up the materials Dan—Dave—"

"Darren."

"Darren set aside for me."

Emily's eyes darted to the left and back again.  "It's right there."

Benson started to turn his head, but kept his eyes on Emily.  "Right... there?"

Emily's eyes darted again and Benson looked over to the four very thin books stacked on the edge of the circulation desk.  Benson completely forgot his unease at the antsy librarian with his disappointment.  He walked over and picked up the stack to glance at the four titles.  The books were very thin and one looked like a children's book.  Benson looked at Emily.

"This is it?"

"And that one," she said, pointing at a fifth book.

It was the _Bible_.  And it looked like a Gideon's version.  Benson repressed a sigh.

"I think I already have that one in my motel," he said.  "Well, thanks for these.  Can I take them?  I'll probably bring them back tomorrow."

Emily nodded.  Benson turned to leave but a soft whisper caught his ear.

"We didn't have anything here really, so Darren called the Rochester branch.  Brian says he has a whole bunch of stuff for you.  But, it's in Rochester."

"Where's Rochester?"

"On the border of New Hampshire and Maine.  It's only a half hour drive."

"Can the books be sent here?"

"Yes.  But, they would have to be entered into the system and be transferred, and the library truck only makes intersystem deliveries bi-weekly.  And he just came two days ago.  But if you pick them up yourself, they'll let you take them without checking them out.  Because you're FBI."

Benson actually didn't hear the last sentence and a half of what she said because her voice tapered off, but he caught the gist of it.

"So, they'll hold the books for me?"

Emily nodded.  "They stay open until six o'clock tonight."

"Thank you, Emily.  You've been a big help."

She smiled awkwardly and then ducked back down behind the counter.  Benson blinked.  And looked around.  He was almost certain he was alone in the building and Emily had somehow jumped dimensions.  Perhaps she'd gone back to her home world.  He shook his head and walked back to the police station.  He didn't even bother to look through the four books in his hands and tossed them onto his desk.  He sat in his chair and picked one up, but then tossed it aside.  Instead he pulled over the preliminary report on Thompson that Nic had brought upstairs and began to read through it again.  He knew the full report was probably one or two days off still, but he couldn't shake his impatience.

A couple of hours later he was scratching through his seventh profile of the killer.  There were too many pieces.  He wasn't even using the "missing pieces of the puzzle" analogy; he felt like there were pieces from a different puzzle thrown into the mix.  He looked around the empty taskforce center.  Where the hell was everyone?  What was taking Jordan and Ann so long?  He pulled out his Blackberry to see if he'd called or sent an e-mail.  The screen was dark.  He pushed some buttons and then held the power button down.  Nothing.

"Damn it."

His charger was back at the motel.  He checked his watch.  It was 4:37.  If he was going to get those materials from Rochester tonight, he was going to have to leave soon.  He would go to Rochester by himself, but he didn't have a car.  Maybe Gus would let him borrow a squad car?  Or one from the impound yard?

Benson made his way into the bullpen and headed for Gus's office when he spotted the police chief glaring at a young teen girl who had her hands on her hips and was glaring back just as hard.  He slowed his pace and stopped a few inconspicuous feet away.  The staring match continued until at last the girl threw her hands in the air.

"Fine!" she said.  "I'll tell her!"

Then the girl turned and stomped out of the police station.  Benson was worried this might put Gus in a bad mood, but he was smiling as he watched the girl go.  He turned and saw Benson standing nearby, clearly spying and eavesdropping, and approached him.

"My daughter," he explained, though Benson had assumed as much.  "She and two of her friends got picked up for truancy.  It's only the second week of school.  I mean, I never liked school much either, but at least I made it to October before I started skipping."

"Who does she have to tell?" Benson asked.

"Her mother."

Benson grinned.  "Let me guess.  You're actually the least scary parent?"

Gus tapped the side of his nose with his finger.  Then he sighed.  "I don't get it.  When she was twelve she was still sweet and obedient.  She turned thirteen over the summer and I got...that."

Benson smiled a little malevolently at the thought that his oldest brother was only two years away from "that" himself.  It would be hilarious watching his brother deal with a teenage daughter.

"Can I do something for you, Benson?"

"Oh, yes, actually, I was wondering if I could ask a favor.  The library in Rochester pulled some research material on angels for me, but Jordan seems to have disappeared with our rental car.  Would it be possible for me to borrow a car out of the impound yard to go pick them up?"

Gus rubbed at the scruff on his chin.  "Well, I think our 'impound yard' is empty at the moment."

Benson made a hopeful face.  "Could I borrow one of the squad cars?"

Gus saw something over Benson's shoulder and grinned wickedly.  "I got a better idea.  I'll get you a guide and chauffeur."

"I don't think—"

"Mercer!" Gus bellowed.

Benson stiffened and didn't bother to turn around.  _Oh, Jesus, no._   Benson still didn't turn to look at him, but he could feel when he arrived beside them.

"Yes, Chief?" Oska asked evenly.

Gus was still grinning.  "You have the worst timing of anyone I've ever met in my life, Oska."

"Sir?"  His voice sounded confused, but Benson still wasn't looking at him.

"Agent Remick here needs a ride to the library."

There was a long pause.  "He can't walk a block and a half?  Or can he not cross the street by himself?"

Benson whipped his head around to glare at Oska.  And oh god he wished he hadn't.  Oska wasn't in uniform.  He was wearing faded jeans and a stretched out black AC/DC T-shirt, but that did nothing to hide exactly how lean and strong his body was.  Benson was also fairly certain he hadn't touched a brush all day as his hair was an unruly mass of waves on his head.  Benson just barely stopped himself from licking his lips.  It had been years since he'd been _this_ attracted to a man.  Oska flicked his eyes to Benson and frowned at his scrutiny.  Fortunately Gus drew his attention when he started speaking again.

"The library in Rochester.  You're going to drive him there so he can pick up some books, and then you will also drive him back here."

Benson was grateful Gus had included that last bit.  He wouldn't put it past Oska to drive him to Rochester and then strand him there saying all Gus said he'd had to do was drive him there, not bring him back.

"Gus, I don't have to run errands for the FBI."

"You're off duty today, Oska."

"I know.  Which is exactly why you shouldn't ask me to do this."

"Oska, we ain't exactly the NYPD here.  Our resources are stretched thin in the best of times.  I'm not pulling an on duty officer for this task.  I'm asking you to do it.  And besides, don't think that I don't know why that mutt is not glued to your heels right now."

Oska crossed his arms over his chest.  "I don't know what you mean."

"I know she is at her little doggy day spa getting her quarterly 'check up' and grooming that costs this department a hundred fifty dollars a pop."

Benson raised an eyebrow and Oska ignored the look.

"Not like she doesn't earn it," Oska mumbled.

"Well, we'll agree to disagree on that, but she _is_ a valuable asset.  More so than you're proving to be at the moment.  So.  You're going to drive Agent Remick to the Rochester library, let him get his books, and then you're going to bring him back.  Understood?"

"Fine," Oska relented grudgingly.  "Let me just get my stupid gym bag."

He stalked off toward his desk and Benson felt a twinge of empathy.  He had definitely gotten drawn into last minute work at the office by going back for something he'd forgotten.  And he probably should have told Gus that he didn't think it was a good idea.  That he really wanted someone else to take him.  Or shoot, there was no reason he couldn't wait until tomorrow and pick them up with Jordan.  But, fuck him; he wanted to spend some time with Oska.  For some reason he wanted to try to clear the bad blood between them.  He knew he'd been kind of a dick to the officer when they'd first arrived, and Oska was clearly still in the anger phase of his grieving process, but there was no reason why they couldn't find some common ground.  And yeah, that was the only reason he wanted to spend time with him.  Just to clear the air.  So it wouldn't make any future interactions awkward for others around them.  Yeah, that was it.  So he turned to Gus.

"Thanks, Chief," he said dryly.  "I've always wondered what a drive through hell might be like."

Gus just grinned at him and slapped him on the back as he walked away.

"Let's go, Remick!" Oska called as he pushed through the swinging panel on his way out of the station.

Benson had everything on him he needed, but he took the time to go back to the taskforce office and lock the door.  Then he moseyed slowly out of the bullpen.  One officer who was at his desk noticed his slow gait and tried to hide a smile as he returned to his phone call that sort of sounded like he was trying to talk a woman out of using a lighter and Aquanet hairspray to kill a wasp in her bedroom.

Oska had pulled up to the front of the station in a red 1968 Dodge Charger.  Benson gave a low whistle.  That was a pretty nice classic car, and it looked like it was in perfect condition.  He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.  Before he got in he brushed his hand over the upholstery.

"The dog's never been in here," Oska griped.

Benson smirked and got into the car.  He barely had the door shut before the car was moving.

"You know, _Officer_ , I'm pretty sure New Hampshire has seatbelt laws."

"Then you better put your seatbelt on before I have to arrest you."

Benson tried really hard not to smile at the thought of Oska cuffing him.  He failed.

"And actually, New Hampshire doesn't have seatbelt laws for adults."

"It doesn't?  That seems weird."

"More like evolution."

"What do you mean?"

"If you're stupid enough not to wear a seatbelt, then it's best if you don't pass your genes on to future generations by getting smeared across the pavement."

Benson nodded his head and then gave it a little shake.  "Okay then."

They rode in silence until Oska merged onto the highway.  The officer leaned his left elbow on the side of the car and ran his fingers over his lips as he stared straight ahead.  Benson cleared his throat, and he saw the slight eye roll Oska made.

"Look, Officer Mercer.  Saying we got off on the wrong foot is a gross understatement and I—"

Oska sighed dramatically.  "Yes, I know.  You were just doing your job.  You're compartmentalizing.  It's what we're taught to do.  It's a job, it's not personal.  That's the best way to focus in order to get the job done.  I'm overreacting to a lot of things because I'm still pissed and distraught and disgusted about what happened to my sister.  She was missing for _at least_ three days and nobody even fucking noticed.  Not even me.  So, I'm still just a big ball of fucked up asshole who doesn't want to listen to people who are just trying to help because I'm still in big ball of fucked up asshole mode.  So, I treated you unfairly and poorly.  You weren't wrong and I wasn't right, but you know, you weren't right and I'm not wrong.  So, we just have to accept that and move on.  Water under the bridge.  You work your case and I'll stay out of your way.  And we'll be fine.  Can we just leave it at that?"

Benson swallowed thickly.  He didn't really want to just leave it at "stay out of each other's hair," but it wasn't his decision to make apparently.  So, he finally nodded.

"Yeah.  We can.  I just, I do want to say I'm sorry.  I was out of line on Tuesday.  Not just with you, but with Gus also, and I misrepresented myself and the Bureau.  And I—"

"Water, bridge, Remick."

Benson deflated and sat back in his seat.  Well, all right then.  An awkward silence filled the car, pulling and tugging at them both as they tried to only look straight ahead or out of their own windows.  Benson got fed up.  This was ridiculous.  So their first encounter was water under the bridge.  Fine.  No sense in rehashing it.  But that didn't mean they needed to act like fellow patients in a proctologist’s waiting room around each other.

"You know," Benson started, "this car is really something.  I heard the engine before I got in, she was purring beautifully but I can feel the power in her too.  It's always nice to find other people who appreciate classic cars, but who also aren't afraid to use them.  I actually have a '67 Im—"

"It's not my car," Oska snapped.  "It was my sister's.  I actually couldn't give two shits about cars, classic or otherwise."

A strained silence fell between them.  Benson didn't try to fill it again.

When they arrived at the Rochester Public Library it was a quarter past five and only a few cars were in the parking lot.  Oska pulled into a space close to the door, but left the engine running.  Benson got out and said, "You still going to be here when I get back?"

He didn't wait for an answer and slammed the door shut.

The Rochester library was a little more familiar to him: brightly lit with a circulation desk that had a person already standing behind it instead of beneath it.  There was some light chatter coming from amongst the shelves of books and to the left was a brightly colored corner furnished with large pillows and a rocking chair.  Benson waited for a mother and daughter to finish checking out their books before approached the young man behind the counter.  He had sandy colored hair, acne scars on his cheeks, and a nametag that said, "Brian."

Benson pulled out his credentials and displayed them as he introduced himself to Brian.  Brian's eyes went wide and he broke out into a giddy smile that told Benson that this encounter was going to be a little awkward.

"Oh, wow.  Special Agent Remick.  Hi.  You're here.  I almost thought maybe you wouldn't come today.  Emily said you were, so I got everything ready, but it was getting late.  And I was all like, he's an FBI agent.  He's got so much more important things to do.  But, you're here."

Benson gave him his best stoic agent face.  "I am.  You have the materials ready?"

"Yeah!  Yeah, follow me!"

Brian scampered out from behind the counter and walked over to a room with a sign on the door indicating only employees were allowed in.

"So, this is for a case, right?  I mean, duh, obviously.  Like, I heard about that woman's death in Elton.  But they weren't saying anything about it.  Then I get a call and they're all like the FBI wants books on angels and I was all like—this is the Angel Slayer!  Isn't it!"

"Brian," Benson said firmly.  "Lower your voice."

"Oh, right!" he whispered.  "I'm sorry!"

"It's fine.  Just, what made you think this is the Angel Slayer case?  And how have you even heard of it?  How old were you when those murders happened?"

"I was fifteen!  And I read about them online.  Such as the Internet was back then.  You know?  But, like, I've always been interested in serial killers.  I've read every book about and by the infamous American ones.  And I'm in community college now.  Getting my associate degree in criminal justice.  But, then I'll transfer to a four year.  Because you need to have a Bachelor's degree to be an agent, right?  And that's my goal.  I want to be a profiler for the FBI."

Benson could feel that he was staring and blinked his eyes to get some moisture back in them.  "Um, you know, we don't really profile like they do on TV."

"Oh, I know!  TV is full of shit.  I know.  I've done my research.  Oh!  Speaking of research!  Here!  I found all this for you!"

Brian opened the employee lounge door and Benson saw five large Rubbermaid storage bins stacked by the door.  Benson gaped.

"Are those all full?"

"Yes."  Brian was practically glowing with pride.

"There's this much information on angels?"

"There's probably more than that.  I mean, our library is small.  I actually drove to Sanford to raid their shelves, but it's in Maine so we don't share the same library system.  So, it would be awesome if those could definitely get back to me because they don't really know that I took them and transported them across state lines."

Benson wondered briefly if interstate library book theft was a felony.  He rubbed his forehead, partly amused and partly concerned by Brian's enthusiasm.

"Okay, well, thank you very much.  I will definitely take care of them and get them back to you as soon as I can."  He surveyed the boxes.  "Do you think you could help me carry them out to the car?"

"Yes!  Of course!"

Benson put out a hand in a calming gesture.  "Take it easy, Brian."

"Yes, yes.  Sorry."

He was still grinning ear to ear.  It took two trips, some griping at a scowling Oska, and unloading two of the bins in order to get all the material to fit in the small trunk of the Charger since there was no backseat.  At last the trunk closed completely and Benson turned to shake Brian's hand in thanks.

"It's no trouble at all, Special Agent!  I actually don't work weekends, so if you need me to come out and help sort through and organize all this I would love to help!"

"Yeah, Special Agent Remick," Oska said from where he leaned on the roof of the car looking obnoxious and fuckable all at once.  "Why don't you let Brian come out and help?"

Benson gave Oska the best glare he could muster when being faced with those blue eyes, a smirk on those lips, and that damn sex hair he had going on today.  He turned to Brian.

"I am grateful for the offer, Brian.  You have really outdone yourself with your research.  I'm certain this will yield positive results for the case.  Unfortunately, with chain of custody and discoverability—" out of the corner of his eye he saw Oska roll his eyes, but Brian didn't see it because he was fixated on Benson. "—we can't have a civilian help out because if— _when_ —we catch this guy we don't want the defense to be able to throw out any evidence."

"Oh, yes.  Right!  I understand."

Benson wondered what sort of grades Brian was making in his criminal justice associate's degree program.  He gave him another firm handshake and a nod of the head.  Brian returned the same solemn gesture.

"We'll be in touch if there's anything you can help us with."

"Yes, sir!"

Benson got into the car and Oska immediately peeled out of the parking lot.

Benson rubbed his forehead and laughed softly.  "Geez, I wonder if we should put him on the suspect list."

"Do you even have a suspect list?" Oska asked dubiously.

Benson shot him a dirty look.  "It's a work in progress."

"Hn.  Yes, I can see how your list of living suspects would be hard to assemble when you're still working your way through the dead ones."

Benson cocked his head sharply to get out a crick in his neck.  He ran his tongue over his teeth.  Okay, so he was going to be a passive-aggressive little shit.  Fine.

"Well, I understand how it might be difficult for a cop who spends his days busting kids for smoking pot in stairwells might have trouble understanding the criminal investigation process even after it's already been explained to him."

Oska let out a humorless laugh.  "Oh, yes, yes, you're right.  All I know how to do is tell my dog to stick her nose up people's butts."

"Isn't that what she is?"

"Well, since you're clearly so curious about Bunny and our duties together, she _has_ been trained in drug identification and locating.  But she's actually a cadaver dog."

"How much use does a town of five thousand people have for a cadaver dog?" Benson sneered and then immediately regretted how harshly that had come out.  But Oska was getting on his last nerve.

"She's trained to be available for national emergencies.  For instance, her predecessor and I went to New York the day after 9/11."

Benson stared at Oska.  "What was that like?" he asked quietly.

"What do you think?  It was awful.  And I'm done talking about it."

Benson looked out the windshield, watching the highway roll away beneath them as the sun moved closer to the horizon.

"So you _have_ been out of New Hampshire," Benson murmured, mostly to himself.

"Of course I have," Oska snapped.

Benson leaned against his side of the car and checked his watch.  They still had at least twenty-five minutes of driving to do.  Awesome.

Thirty-one excruciatingly silent minutes later, they arrived in Elton.

"Turn onto Pine," Benson said, startling them both as he broke the tenuous silence.

"Pine heads in the opposite direction.  Do you think I don't know my way around my own town?"

Benson gripped the door handle to keep his temper in check.  "Yes, I'm sure you do.  But I don't want to go back to the station; I want to go to the motel."

"Why?" Oska challenged, but still hung a sharp right onto Pine as he almost missed the turn.

"Because I'm certain most of that stuff is worthless and I want sort through it there and only bring in the pertinent materials so I don't clutter up our already cramped taskforce center."

He heard Oska snort derisively.  Probably at his use of the term "taskforce center" for the "spare office" they were using at the station.

"Which motel?" he asked.

"The Lakeside Motor Lodge."

Oska's laugh actually sounded a little genuine.  "Classy," he murmured.

Benson didn't speak again except to direct Oska around the side of the building to the parking spots closest to his room.  He didn't see the Accent anywhere.  Where the hell was Jordan?  They got out of the car and Oska unlocked the trunk with the keys.  They frowned at the mess of loose books that was clogging the space.  Benson reached in and began to shimmy a storage bin out the trunk, having to adjust it to several awkward angles before it slipped free.  He used his knee to support the bottom while he got a better grip on the handles, and then started walking toward his room.  He noticed Oska was leaning against the side of the car.

"You gonna help?" he griped.

"Hauling books was not in the task description."

Benson narrowed his eyes.  He'd just known Oska would be a loophole aficionado.

"Well, look at it this way.  The sooner all these books get into the motel room, the sooner you can leave my company."

Oska immediately turned and began to pull a bin out of the trunk.  Benson grumbled to himself as he balanced the bin on one leg and struggled to get the keys to the room in the lock with his free hand.  It took several trips to hand carry the pile of books scattered on the trunk floor inside, but at last they dropped off the last couple of stacks on the already overflowing desk that was next to the dresser the old fashioned tube TV sat on.

"Thanks for the help," Benson said.

Oska muttered something under his breath which Benson didn't catch but he was certain it wasn't flattering.  Benson followed him to the door and slammed it shut, almost hitting Oska's face.

"What the f—"

"What happened to water under the bridge, huh?  Is this how it's going to be the entire time I'm here?  Because this is bullshit, pal.  I'm here to help solve this case.  I'm here to catch a murderer.  I'm here because I did nothing but eat, drink, sleep, and breathe this guy's carnage for two years.  I've spent eight years never being able to shake it off.  And now I have a chance to get him.  And I am doing everything within my power to stop him.  You should show me—"

"Well if you had done your fucking job eight years ago, my sister would still be alive, wouldn't she?!"

Benson took a step back like he'd been slapped.  He had no rejoinder for that; Oska was right.  Benson knew it.  Had always known it.  But no one had ever said it to his face.

"I—"

"But no.  He got away then to come here and murder people like the sick fuck he is.  And you doing 'everything in your power' is trying to figure out why the victims deserved what they got!"

"I never said that!  I explained to you—"

"Fuck you, Remick!  Your explanations are shit!  You can't figure fuck all out so you're willing to try any crackpot theory that will keep people from seeing what an incompetent ass you are!"

Benson was feeling that blinding rage again, red clouding around his vision.  He wasn't mad at Oska.  No, he was just speaking the truth of Benson's inadequacies, but he took it out on Oska anyway.

"You know, it's funny how you seem to think that everything we're doing is to the detriment of the case—so much so that you're trying to get us to stop working on it.  That's strange, don't you think?"

Oska drew breath to speak, but Benson pushed him back against the door.

"But you know what's stranger?  You _knew_ we were coming to see the body.  But you went to Nic and _lied_ about having permission to release it.  Were you trying to get rid of the evidence?!"

The unvoiced accusation hung heavy in the air and Benson knew he'd stepped way too fucking far over the line.  Oska's whole body went rigid, his eyes widened, and the twitch in his arm was all the warning Benson needed to know what was about to happen.  He dodged just in time to keep Oska's fist from cracking against his jaw and pushed hard against his shoulder to slam him against the door again.  He couldn't let Oska punch him for his own sake.  Even if there weren't witnesses, if it came out, he might have to arrest him for assaulting a federal agent.

Benson started to straighten, but he'd underestimated Oska's level of rage.  The smaller man brought his arms to his chest and then pushed them out, dislodging Benson's hold on him.  Then he turned slightly and punched both palms against Benson's chest, shoving him into the wall adjacent to the door.  Benson gasped as the air was knocked out of him with the force.  Pain squeezed tightly around the back of his rib cage and distracted him enough that he barely managed to catch Oska's wrist as he swung for his face again.  Benson turned and pushed Oska back into the small bit of wall between the door and the wall his back had recently become acquainted with.

"Oska!" Benson grunted, trying to get control of the man.

Oska used the wall as leverage to throw his whole weight onto Benson.  He stumbled back, still holding Oska's wrist and turned, used Oska's forward momentum to throw him off balance.  The guy had catlike reflexes and turned to grab a hold of Benson's jacket lapel.  Their feet tangled and their momentum sent them staggering several steps as they tried to stay on their feet.  They crashed onto the bed, missing the floor by about three inches, and Benson landed squarely on top of Oska.  He pushed up with one arm on the mattress to look down and saw Oska's chest heaving quickly both with exertion and his anger.  His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were shining with anger, bitterness, and... grief.  Such overwhelming grief.

Benson only had time to think, _Don't do_ —before he leaned down and pressed himself against Oska fully, lips to knees.  He must have caught Oska off guard because his lips parted, and Benson swallowed the groan that fought to get out as their mouths sealed with deep, muffled inhalations through their noses.  He felt Oska shift below him, realized he'd done something monumentally stupid, and was about to get kneed in the groin if not shot with his own weapon.  He started to sit up, but stopped moving when he realized Oska had a very firm grip on the hair at the top of his head and he was working his thigh in between Benson's legs.  Was he really—?

Benson's thought process short-circuited when Oska's tongue thrust into his mouth, curling around his own.  They both shifted their hips at the same time causing their groins to collide.  The friction, their mirroring moans, caused Benson to get hard so fast it actually hurt.  They writhed against each other, the hard lines of their cocks fitting snugly together between their legs.  Benson still had one hand pinning Oska's wrist to the bed, so he used his other to cup Oska's jaw and then slide his fingers up into his hair.  It was soft and smooth as the locks tingled between his fingers and the sensation shot down through his whole body.

Their kiss had yet to lessen in intensity, and Benson was in some desperate need of air.  He was also getting just clearheaded enough to be embarrassed by the mewling grunts and whimpers they were both making as they devoured each other.  Oska moved the hand that was in his hair and started pushing at his shoulder.  Benson thought he was trying to get him to stop, so he pulled back and let go of Oska's wrist.  All the other man did was use both hands to shove Benson's jacket off his shoulders.  Benson shrugged out of the garment and let out a noise of surprise as Oska pulled him back down to kiss his lips again.  His hands slid over the smooth material of his dress shirt, and Benson took that as permission.  He put his hands to the hem of Oska's T-shirt and groaned as he felt his palms drink in the smooth skin and hard muscle of Oska's abdomen and sides as he moved his hands up his body.

Oska bucked his hips up and Benson was painfully reminded that he was making quite a wet patch on the material of his boxers.  Benson reluctantly removed one had from Oska's chest and rolled to the side just enough that he could reach down and grip Oska's erection.  Oska moaned into his mouth at the contact and rolled his hips up into Benson's hand—and damn was the guy hung.

Benson pulled himself away from Oska's lips, and was mollified slightly by the fact that he too was panting just as hard, and used both hands to quickly pop the button and pull down the zipper of Oska's jeans.  Oska bit his lip and muffled a cry that made Benson's dick throb lustily.  He pushed the man's pants and briefs down just a couple of inches so that he could pull out Oska's cock and get a good grip on it.  He pumped it fast, but loose, denying Oska any real stimulation.  Then he gripped Oska's upper arm and slid him up the bed a few inches before bending over and angling his cock toward his lips.

For one moment he panicked as he remembered it had been a very long time since he'd been on the giving end of a blow job and he worried he might not be able to do it.  He parted his lips and felt the heat of Oska invade his mouth before he leaned down more and closed his lips around it.  As soon as the weight hit his tongue, Benson hummed excitedly.  The heated skin sent a pulse of arousal through him, the bitter salt flavor actually tasted good to him, and the girth made his mouth water.  Benson hummed again, sending the vibrations down the shaft and Oska's hips thrust up, causing the head to hit Benson's palate.  It had been awhile since he had done this, but even the first time he'd never had much of a gag reflex.  Benson took in more, loving the feeling in his mouth so much he could practically feel it on his own cock.

There had been a reason the guy he'd dated for six months sophomore year of college had called him a cockslut.  And it wasn't because he'd slept around.

Benson wrapped his hand around the base of Oska's cock, giving it quick little pulls as he hollowed his cheeks and swallowed Oska down.  The only warning he got was Oska's body going completely rigid and his thighs pulling against his jeans to spread his legs further apart.  Benson sat up quickly and turned his head to avoid the spurts of come that almost hit him in the eye.  As it was he still had some in his mouth and he debated what to do about it as he stroked Oska through his orgasm.  Aw hell, the guy probably didn't have anything, and he could gargle with some bourbon later.  Benson swallowed.

He looked at Oska where he lay boneless, his head lolling back and forth in dissipating ecstasy as Benson eased his grip a little but kept stroking.  The fact that Oska spread his legs when he came was something he would love to explore more.  A lot of people's natural instinct was to lock their body up in order to prevent overstimulation.  He'd definitely had his ears thwacked by more than one woman's thighs.

Benson waited anxiously for Oska to come down from his high.  He knew what would happen as soon as he did.  He'd freak out, possibly punch him, leave him harder than frozen snot in the arctic, and then drive down to the station to file sexual assault charges.

He stopped moving his hand at the same time Oska heaved one last deep breath and returned to normal respiration.  Oska raised his head and Benson braced himself for whatever came next.

Oska sat up and grabbed Benson's tie, yanking him forward, and bringing their lips together.  Benson raised his hands to hold Oska's face, trying to focus on the kiss now.  To really feel the soft, now wet, drag of his chapped lips, the faintest hint of cinnamon gum flavor, the odd nostalgic feeling of stubble scraping against his own.  He let out a startled "mmph" noise when Oska's hands found his fly and liberated him roughly.

Before he knew what was happening, his world swirled around him as a gun calloused hand began working his shaft and another one gripped the back of his neck and pulled him down.  Benson struggled a little from the sudden loss of orientation and the pleasure literally gripping him.  He attempted to pull up from the overwhelming kiss, but Oska's hand kept him firmly in place, fucking relentlessly into his mouth with his tongue without allowing the seal of their lips to break.  The pace increased on his cock and Benson again tried to pull slightly away as lack of air became an issue.  Benson felt his body spasm as his mind warred between wanting more pleasure and needing air.  He let out a small desperate sound into Oska's mouth as he felt his lungs protest the energy his hips were using to rut at the same bruising pace Oska's hand was using to jack him.  Even though his eyes were closed, he could sense a white fog beginning to form around the edges of his vision.  His orgasm suddenly sprang out of its holding pattern and Benson used every bit of strength he had left to pull himself free of the kiss and expelled the stale air in his lungs as an actual scream as he came all over Oska's hand.

Benson raked in a breath and gasped and panted his way around several whimpers and moans.  His hips still pumped minutely, his orgasm not even close to being finished yet.  He turned his head and buried his face in Oska's hair, almost sobbing with the intensity of the pleasure he'd just been given.  He had no idea he'd be into breath play.

"Oh, fuck, Oz," he moaned, still struggling to breathe.  "I—fuck.  Oz..."

He felt Oska shift under him.

"Ka," Oska said sternly.

"Wha—?”

Oska sat up and pushed Benson off him.  “Os-ka.  My name is Os- _ka_."

Benson flopped onto his back, brain still hazy, but managing to at least understand that Oska was now doing his freak the fuck out thing as he walked into the bathroom.  Benson put a hand to his head and focused on getting his breathing back under control.  He heard the faucet turn on and run for several seconds.  There was an aggravated curse and then the sound of cloth being furiously scrubbed.  More cursing.  The faucet turned off with a loud thump.  Oska emerged from the bathroom with a scowl on his face and a large damp spot on his jeans where Benson assumed some semen must have landed.  The scowl turned into a hard glare when he saw Benson.

"You say _one_ word about this to anyone—"

"Who the fuck am I gonna tell without getting fired?"

Oska thought about that for a moment.  "Good point."

"Can we at least stop snipping at each other in public now?"

"Only if you can stop being an arrogant asshat."

Benson didn't even have it in him to be insulted by that.  He was too worn out.

"Have we at least reached a level of intimacy in our relationship that allows for me to call you by your first name?"

Oska turned a withering look on him.  "You think this was intimacy?"

Benson sighed and looked away.  "I guess not.  Good night, Officer Mercer.  Thanks for the ride.  To the library, I mean," he added hastily.

There was a moment of quiet and Benson didn't know what Oska was doing.

"I should be furious with you, you fuck," he said calmly.

Benson turned to look at him.

"That was _not_ the kind of fight you resolve with sex."

Benson sat up and tucked his dick back into his underwear so that his seriousness wasn't detracted from by rogue genitalia.  "You're right.  Absolutely.  I don't know what I was thinking.  I just—I just—"

"You just wanted to do that from the moment you saw me in the diner."

Benson felt heat creep under cheeks, but he tried not to react to those words.  "Maybe.  Look, I'm really sorry I took advantage of you like that.  Shit, I wasn't even sure if you liked guys."

"I don't."

Benson raised an eyebrow.

"Usually."  Oska scrubbed a hand over his face.  "Look, it was inappropriate for you to kiss me at that moment in _that_ fight.  Which, I'm not sure we're actually finished with it yet since you kind of accused me of murdering my sister."

Benson felt a wave of shame wash over him followed by a spike of nausea.

"But, I know—I _think_ —you would have stopped.  You started to pull away, and I didn't let you.  Because I needed to stop thinking.  Even if only for ten minutes.  So, yeah, shame on you for taking advantage, but shame on me for using you."

Benson shrugged a shoulder.  "At least you reciprocated."

"Shut-up," Oska responded, but there was no venom in the words.  "Just—just find my sister's killer, okay?  Can you do that for me?"

Benson nodded solemnly.  "He's not getting away this time."

"Promise me."

Benson stood up and moved to put himself directly in front of Oska, their faces a scant couple of inches apart, their eyes almost crossing from the proximity as they stared at each other.

"I promise," he vowed, knowing only his death would keep him from solving this case.

Benson stared into that wide expanse of blue and felt himself sway forward.  He kissed Oska and put a hand to his waist.  Oska allowed it for a moment and then pushed him away.

"Jesus, Benson, you really have no sense of timing, do you?"

"Sorry," he murmured and licked his lips, his eyes still closed.

"Don't lose focus."

Benson opened his eyes.  Oska's hand was on the doorknob.

"I won't."

Oska's eyes roamed over him for several moments, and then he shook himself and opened the door.

"What the fuck just happened?" he asked himself as he left the room.

Benson shuffled back until he felt the bed at his knees and sat down heavily.  He stared at the closed door.

"What the fuck _did_ just happen?"

 

**Friday, September 20, 2013**

 

 Benson checked that the chamber of his weapon was clear for the third time before sliding it back in the holster.  Then he checked that his credentials, his phone, and wallet were all in their assigned pockets for the second time.  Finally he pulled the door of the motel shut behind him and triple checked the lock on the door.  Jordan strummed his fingers on the steering wheel and knew better than to comment on the morning ritual.  He only had a couple months’ worth of observations to draw his conclusion, but he was pretty sure Benson's OCD was directly correlative to his level of stress.

Benson squeezed his legs into the front seat of the Accent, and they were off.  Jordan glanced at Benson and saw him roll his head back and forth on his neck a bit, but he somehow in counterpoint to his stress-induced habits already looked pretty relaxed.

“How did the interview go yesterday?” Benson asked, watching the group of power walking grannies round the corner of King and Pine as he checked his watch.  Jordan wondered if Benson was tracking their routine.

“Good," he said, remembering to respond.  "I think we got some useful information, and unfortunately some evidence that would have been very helpful got thrown away.  We’ll fill you in together at the station.  Ann has an amazing memory.  And she kept all the notes.”  Jordan let out a small laugh.  He glanced at Benson.  “So, um, sorry for stranding you like that last night.  We got stuck in traffic on the highway.  An accident completely blocked the road for, like, five hours.”

“Man that sucks.”

“Yeah.  So…how did you get back to the motel?  I swung by the station but you’d already left.  You didn’t walk, did you?”

“No, no.  I had to go by the library to pick up some materials.  I thought it’d be just a few books that I could read before going to bed, you know?  But this guy had pulled like five boxes worth of source material.  It was crazy.  I probably should have just brought it all to the station rather than taking it back to my room.”

“How’d you get it there?”

Benson didn't so much as blink at the question, but his laugh sounded forced.  “Officer Mercer drove me.”

“ _Really_.”  Jordan bit down on his lip to keep from saying more.

“Yeah, I think Gus is still punishing him for the whole releasing the body early thing.  He wasn’t even on duty; he just had bad timing by being at the station.  So, Gus told him he had to play my chauffeur.”

“ _Really_.  How did that go?”  _Keep it together_ , Jordan told himself.

“Well.  You know.  He’s still projecting his anger for his sister’s death onto me.”

“Unh-hunh.”

Benson looked at Jordan and he realized he was staring.  He quickly whipped his head forward and was glad no one had been on the road because he had definitely drifted.  Now, how should he phrase his next question?

“So, what was the big epiphany you had last night?” Jordan asked, pointedly looking out the driver's side window to check for non-existent traffic.

Benson didn't answer right away, but finally he said, “What epiphany?”

Jordan fought against the grin that was dying to get out of him.  “It had to be something you learned from the library books, right?  Something to do with the angel names?”

Benson’s brow creased in confusion.  “I don’t understand.  Why do you think I figured something out?”

Jordan could feel his battle against smiling ending in defeat.  “Well, that was some shout you let out last night.”

Benson's jaw almost hit the floor.  And then his whole head flushed an alarming shade of pink right up to the tips of his ears.  He groped for words.  Found none.  Jordan’s hands were clenching the wheel and he didn’t dare look at Benson.

“Or maybe Officer Mercer had the epiphany?”

“Ohmygod,” Benson uttered and turned his head.  There was a dull thud as his forehead hit the glass of the window and he used his left hand to hide the other half of his beet red face.

“I’m not sure if I should give you a reproachful look or a high five.”

“Stop talking, Jordan.”

“Like how did it even happen?  I knew you were crushing on him, but I really thought he might hate you.”

“He does not—what do you mean you  _knew_  I was ‘crushing on’ him?”

“I’m very observant, Benson.  And you’re not very subtle.  At anything you do.”

“Jordan, please, no one can know that that happened.  I mean, it was a onetime thing.  It was pretty much an accident.  Just an ill-thought act of desperation on both our parts, okay?”

“I would never gossip about something like this.  But come on, you can’t expect me not to bust your balls over it.”  He grinned at Benson and there was nothing malicious about it.

Benson groaned again, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.  “It’s not funny and you’re being really unprofessional.”

“I’m unprofessional?  Dude, I now know what you sound like when you come—”

“Jordan!”

“—we have already broken past the unprofessional barrier.”

Benson ran a hand down his face, but he was smiling.

“I hate you.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.  And I can say, ‘Good on ya, son.’  I may score a zero on the Kinsey scale, but even I can see Mercer is a hot piece of ass.”

Benson made a face at him.  "You shut your mouth.  You must just be jealous then.  Allegria been ignoring you when I’m not around?”

“Not exactly.  After I couldn’t find you yesterday, I went to Nell’s for dinner.  Allegria was very friendly.  And when I told her I’d see her tomorrow for dinner, she said not if I go to Nell’s because it’s her night off.  But, if I come over to her place, I could still see her for dinner.”

Jordan beamed, very proud of himself.

“Dude.  We’ve been here for four days and you’re already in with your TDY booty call?”

“Dude.  We were here only  _three_  days before you were gettin’ it with a guy who hates your guts.”

“Touché.”

They rode in silence for a couple of minutes, in which short time got them to the police station.  Jordan parked and turned off the car, but before Benson could get out, he asked a question.

“Look, I know it’s none of my business…but how exactly did it happen?”

Benson laughed harshly.  “What, you want positions?  Pitcher and catcher stats?”

“What?  No!  Sorry.  I meant how did it happen at all—wait, you know what?  It’s none of my business.”

Jordan could tell Benson was trying to soften his expression, but he wasn't too successful.  “You’re right, it isn’t your business.  And I do appreciate that you were able to figure that out for yourself.”

“Benson, seriously, I mean no harm.  I—”

“I know, Jay,” Benson cut him off.  “I just—I can’t joke about it because I’m not proud of what happened last night.  It was unprofessional, completely out of line—and I took advantage of…of a _victim_.  That’s not—right.”

“Benson, I don’t know what happened last night, obviously, and maybe a professional line was crossed, but I don’t think you—” Jordan searched for a word.  “Hurt him?” he finally settled on.

Benson shook his head.  “Oh, no, I just accused him of murdering his sister.  That’s all.”

Benson got out of the car and ignored Jordan’s exclamation of “You what?!”

Jordan stared dumbly after Benson for a few moments before he got his act together and got out of the car.

Friday mornings at the Elton police station were actually a little busier than normal.  Rachel was answering a phone call, so she didn't see Jordan’s nod, and two uniformed officers and a plain clothes detective were in a small conference around the coffee machine.  Gus was visible at his desk through the open door of his office, phone to his ear, frown on his face, but he waved an acknowledgement to him.  Benson had already unlocked the door to their makeshift command post and flipped on the lights.  When Jordan came up behind him he saw Benson's eyes trained on the photo of Natalia Smith.  He sensed Jordan behind him and immediately looked away from the whiteboards and walked over to his desk to deposit his motel room key and jacket.  Jordan did the same; it was probably going to be a very long day.

Benson was working the combination on the heavy duty safe that had been transported from the Portsmouth RA for them to store the FBI laptops as Jordan crossed back to the door and shut it firmly.  He left his fingers on the knob as he watched Benson for a moment.  He didn't want to ask his next question, but it had to be asked.

"Benson...is he a suspect?"

Benson was concentrating too hard on watching the digital numbers change to the one he wanted to really pay attention to Jordan.  "Is who a what?"

"Off-Officer Mercer.  Are we investigating him?"

The final number popped up and Benson turned to look at Jordan as he turned the knob to the right until it clicked.  "What are you talking about?"

"You said you—do you really suspect him?"

Benson groaned softly and opened the safe.  "No, that's not what I—shit."  Benson took his laptop out and carried to his desk.  "Last night—some things were said.  By both of us.  And that resulted in us saying even more things.  And I—I questioned why he lied to Nic about getting the body released to the mortician when he knew we were coming to look at it."

Jordan tilted his head as he pulled his laptop out of the safe.  "Well, that is a fair question.  One he never answered.  Though I'm not sure we ever asked."

"Yeah, well, I followed it up with if it was because he was trying to get rid of evidence."

Jordan sucked in air though his teeth and made a face.  "Ooo.  Yeah.  That may not have been so tactful."

"Understatement, dude."

"So, what happened then?"

"Well, let's just say it led to a physical altercation."

Jordan let out a laugh as he put his laptop on his desk.  He grinned at Benson.  "I'll say."

"Wha—?" Benson blushed.  "That's not what I meant!"

Jordan laughed and sat in his chair.  "So, he punched you?"

"Almost.  I blocked it.  And we grappled and—end of story."

Jordan shook his head as he logged on to his computer.  "Dude hates your guts, you accuse him of killing his sister, and you still got laid.  How is that even possible?"

Benson plopped down in his chair and covered his eyes with his hand.  "Normally this would be my cue to boast of my awesomeness—but last night was so fucked up."

"Would you do it again?"

Benson removed his hand to look at Jordan.  "What?"

"If you had to do it all over again, would you?"

"Of course not!"

"Not the accusation.  The sex."

Benson stammered around his reply, "Wh-what does that have to do with—Jordan!  Shut it!  Not at work!"

Jordan shrugged a shoulder.  "I'm just saying, how it happened may not have been ideal circumstances, but you don't regret that it did happen, right?  I mean, you like him, don't you?  So, it's a good thing, right?"

Benson gaped at him.  "Far from it!"

Jordan opened his mouth to speak but the door opened and Ann entered the room.

“Good morning,” Ann greeted them.

Russ was right behind her carrying a cardboard tray with four coffees in one hand and a box of donuts in the other.

“Morning, team,” Russ grinned.

Ann raised her eyebrows as she placed her bag on Jordan’s desk.  “You’re in a good mood,” she observed.

Russ whistled three notes as he placed the coffee and donuts on Benson’s desk.  He stood beside the agent and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Good mood is actually my default.  It’s just harder to see buried under a five a.m. call to a crime scene.  But, today is a new day, and we’ve got some leads, right?  How did the interview with the maid go?”

“It was okay,” Jordan replied.  “We need to follow up with another family and a garbage collection company, but we’re pretty sure we won’t be able to find the note the killer left on the door.”

“The killer left a note on the door?” Benson asked, and Jordan could tell he was trying very hard not to squirm under the pressure of Russ’ hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe,” Ann said.  “It’s possible Thompson did leave the note himself.  Or he could have been forced to write it by the killer.  It would be nice if we could get some fingerprints off it, but we’ve no guarantee it was touched by the killer.  Plus, it’s buried in literal tons of garbage by now.”

Jordan felt a little heat creep under his cheeks.  He should know better than to make assumptions like that.  He cleared his throat and said, “But, the maid did say that nothing appeared out of the ordinary.  Based on what the forensic team said, I think we should really consider that this wasn’t a break in.  I think the killer was known to the victim or at least represented someone that a person would willingly invite into their home.”

“What about you, Russ?” Benson said, swiveling in his chair to face the detective and effectively dislodging his hand.  “How did your interviews go?  And where did you disappear to yesterday?”

“Two of the teachers live a couple towns over from Elton.  I got stuck in a terrible traffic jam on my way back.  Didn’t even make it to Elton until after eight o’clock.  Everyone had left the station by then.”

“We were stuck in the same traffic,” Jordan bemoaned.  “Half a mile away from our exit for five hours.”

Russ chuckled.  “I hope the two of you find each other’s company stimulating, then.”

Jordan and Ann shrugged a shoulder and said, “Eh.”  Then they glanced at each other with a grin of amusement at their uncoordinated though matching reactions.

“Well, unfortunately I was stuck by myself with nothing but a pop station available on the radio.  I didn’t even have many notes to review.  I spoke to two of Natalia’s coworkers and neither had much to say.  She was new to the job.  This was going to be her first year teaching and they’d only met her in July when the teachers came back to prep for the upcoming year.  Natalia had been living in Flagstaff for the last seven years.  She came back after her divorce.”

Ann lean-sat on the desk and crossed her arms over her stomach.  “Do you think the killer followed her here?”

Benson groaned.  “Let’s not add another city just yet.  Let’s assume she came back to town and for some reason that sparked his desire to kill again.”

“I thought you said he’s been killing all these years; that he hasn’t stopped,” Jordan said.

“And that you didn’t think he was a local,” Russ reminded him.

Benson glared at all three of them and turned in his chair to boot up his laptop.  “I’m going to choke the life out of this guy when I find him.”

Russ laughed and gave a couple squeezes to Benson’s tense shoulders.  “Unfortunately he just might like that.”  He patted Benson’s arm and only chuckled more at the disgusted look Benson threw over his shoulder.

“I’m going to go find Nic and see if she has an official report on Thompson yet.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Benson grumbled.  He took one of the coffees from the tray and took a sip, screwing up his face as the liquid hit his tongue.  “What is with you New Englanders and Dunkin’ Donuts?  This stuff is rank.”

He stood up and started to leave the room with his cup while Ann narrowed her eyes at him.  Jordan assumed Benson was going to doctor the coffee with the cream and sugar kept in the station kitchenette and picked up his own cup to follow him.  He liked his coffee so creamy and sugary it didn’t taste like coffee anymore.

“Ann, you need to fix your coffee?” he asked.

“Nope.  We New Englanders have balls enough to take it black.”

Jordan laughed and Benson returned her narrowed eyes, but he was smiling.  The two of them made their way across the bullpen to the small kitchenette at the far side.  Jordan was about to speak when both of their attentions were drawn to Officer Mercer and Bunny as they entered the building.  He saw them, gave them a nod, and continued on his way to his desk.  Jordan twisted his lips to the side to keep from saying anything as he looked at Benson.  He didn’t react, not really, but Jordan could tell he’d realized the same thing Jordan had.

If Mercer had made a point to blatantly ignore him that would have at least been acknowledgement that something had happened.  If he had gotten a little flustered or even shot eye daggers at him that would be something.  Getting nothing but a perfunctory nod acknowledging he existed in time and space, which was the same thing he’d essentially given Jordan, it pretty much made it clear that he’d completely dismissed what had happened between them last night.

Jordan watched Benson violently shake some imitation sweetener packets to get the grains to the bottom before ripping off the tops.

“Well,” Jordan said as he removed the lid from his coffee, “now you really don’t need to feel guilty about it or anything.  It obviously didn’t bother him that much—”

Jordan stopped talking at the look Benson shot him.

He poured some half and half into his cup.  “Right.  None of my business.”


	3. Apofael

**Tuesday, October 1, 2013**

 

Benson sipped his coffee, enjoying having breakfast for lunch and a cup of Nell’s brew for the first time in several days.  He’d been drinking a lot of motel swill over the last week and a half, even on the weekend, due to spending his mornings rooting through the piles of angel-based research material stacked in his motel room.  He wasn’t even going through it in depth; just dividing it into “read further,” “probably useless,” and “definitely useless.”  Brian had almost done his job too well.  It had been two weeks of angel this and angel that and status reports for Muff and phones calls from Aaron that always ended in Benson basically saying they had nothing.

Nic had been right about Thompson getting a hold of his attacker—the material under his nails had been human flesh, but it had been so damaged by the bleach it was all but useless.  They’d exhausted every possible witness who lived in Thompson’s neighborhood and interviewed all of Smith’s coworkers and acquaintances she’d reconnected with since moving back to town.  There didn’t seem to be any common thread between the two victims.  Except for the fact that Smith was technically new in town and Thompson was only a part-time residence which made it less likely that their absence would be noticed as soon.  Their paths had never crossed inasmuch as they could ascertain, and Benson took Russ’ word for it when he said his conversation with Oska regarding a potential connection had gone both better and worse than expected, but still resulted in the same information.

Benson poked at his scrambled eggs as he thought of Oska.  It had become pretty apparent they were going to keep their relationship in a strictly professional capacity (not that Benson had really expected anything more) and since Oska wasn’t working the case, they never crossed paths.  They rarely even saw each other since Oska worked more swing and overnight shifts than day shifts.  But that wasn’t what really bothered Benson.

That night had been one of the stupidest things he’d ever done in his life, and he was more than grateful that Oska was willing to pretend it didn’t happen, but he couldn’t forget the promise he’d made to the man.  He’d vowed to find his sister’s killer, and their investigation was stalled.  The only consolation was that the higher ups hadn’t started leaning on them and demanding answers—yet.  But he knew it was coming.  Especially if another body turned up—and Benson just couldn’t shake the gnawing unease that he’d woken up with this morning.  Maybe it was just the trembling tension from the approaching storm hanging heavy and close in the air.  The clouds were so thick and grey that it was quite dark outside and electricity danced along his skin even inside the diner.

“Benson!”

Benson looked up from the design he’d traced in his eggs.  Jordan was smiling bemusedly at him.

“You okay?” the younger man asked.

“Yeah, sorry.  Just got lost in my thoughts.  Having an off day, I guess.”

“That’s understandable.  This is the kind of weather that puts people on edge because you can like— _feel_ it coming.  If that makes sense.”

“Perfect sense.  If you’re a rabbit.”

“Shut up,” Jordan huffed at him, but he could tell he was being teased.

“Is there anything else I can get for you this afternoon?”  Allegria smiled at them as she refilled their coffee cups and set down another bowl full of individual creamer containers.  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you here in the afternoons.”

Benson opened his mouth to ask for some catsup for his hash browns, but was condiment-blocked by Jordan.

“Yeah,” Jordan said disappointedly.  “We’ve been on the go pretty much non-stop.  I guess you don’t usually work the dinner shift?”

“No, not usually.  But Rosemary is going to start a pottery or poetry class or something in a couple weeks that meets at nights, so I agreed to switch shifts with her.”

“Oh, that’ll be good.  We’re always here for dinner.”

“So I’ve heard.  She never fails to mention it.”

“Well, can you blame her?” Jordan grinned.

Allegria gave him a saucy look and lightly slapped his arm as she walked away.  Jordan watched until she was around the other side of the counter, and then turned back to face Benson.  He toned down his grin at the pointed look and raised eyebrow Benson was giving him.

“Every time she comes over to ask if we need anything, she flirts with you, forgets, and leaves before I can ask for my catsup.”

Jordan shrugged a shoulder.

“Seriously, I think you two can stand the deprivation.  Don’t you see her first thing in the morning anyway?”

Jordan shook his head.  “Never have.  Not once.”

Benson was surprised.  “Really?  Even after dinner—when was that—?”

“Couple of weeks ago.  And, nope.  I went over to her place, she made me dinner.  We ate it, it was good.  We talked a bit, and then I was shown the door.”

“Hunh.”

“I thought at first that meant something had happened and I’d blown it somehow, but the next day she was all smiles and flirty and acted like everything was fine.”

“Maybe she follows the three date rule.”

Jordan rubbed the back of his head.  “Yeah…that’s the thing though, right?  If we wait until the third date, won’t we be, you know…dating?”

“Ah.”  Benson speared a cube of potato and glared at its delightfully brown and crispy skin.  What kind of diner didn’t keep catsup _on_ the table?  “Well, when it comes to picking a booty call,” Benson glanced up at Jordan and quirked an eyebrow, “You have chosen…poorly.”

Jordan threw a piece of toast crust at him.  “Don’t quote _Indiana Jones_ at me.  You really think your choice was chosen wisely?”

Benson scowled.  He really didn’t like Jordan knowing about one of the two things about himself he was actually ashamed of.

Jordan kind of froze and then said, “Sorry, dude.  Low blow.”

Benson shrugged.  “But still fair.”

“Not really.  Let’s head out now.  Aren't we supposed to get that fax from Missouri today?”

“Oh, yeah.”  Benson had nearly forgotten that the court order for the sales receipts at the funeral home that had sold the casket Smith had been found in finally went through.  The inventory, purchase orders, and list of employees who had access to the stock were set to be faxed over today.  Granted they had only been gone for thirty minutes tops, but Benson wanted to be there the moment it came through.

Benson took a final slug of his coffee and shoveled in a forkful of eggs for the road while Jordan crammed his last piece of bacon into his mouth and squirreled away two napkin wrapped sausages into his coat pocket.  They waved to Allegria on their way out.  They’d set up a system where they basically kept an open tab all day and paid after their last meal or coffee break of the night.

Benson felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as they exited the diner.  The storm had to be practically on top of them.  He wished they’d driven the car rather than leaving it at the station.  It may only be a five minute walk, but they might only have thirty more seconds of dry weather.  Thunder rumbled in the distance and they quickened their pace as the wind picked up.  The streets were empty as most people were wisely staying in with the promise of a wicked storm in the air, so the sound of a car coming up behind them and then slowing down was noticeable.  They kept walking but glanced over to see the K9 marked patrol SUV rolling beside them.  The passenger side window rolled down and Oska looked at them.

“You do realize it’s about to pour down rain, right?”

“Yes,” Benson said, a little ticked that these were the first words Oska had said to him in almost a week.

“Okay, then.”

Oska rolled up his window and drove off.  Jordan turned a glare on Benson.

“What?  I didn’t do anything.”

Behind them they heard the approaching drone of a heavy rain as it crept up on them.

“Fuck,” Benson muttered, and they took off running.

They were only in the rain for thirty or forty-five seconds, but it was so heavy they were pretty drenched by the time they burst into the police station.  Rachel looked up from filing her nails as they stood dripping on the entryway carpet.

“Towels in the locker room,” she said, pointing to a hallway to the right with her file.  Then she returned to fixing her pinky nail.

Jordan and Benson squelched in their shoes down the hall until they came across a swinging door that indicated it was the men’s locker room.  The funk of two decades of sweat and mildew and piss accosted them as they entered and the towels were very stiff and abrasive as they dried off their hair, faces, and necks.

“Wishing you had shorter hair now, huh hippie?” Benson asked.

“Shut up.  If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be wet.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, he probably would have offered _me_ a ride.”

“I doubt it.  He’s an ass.”

“Hmm.  You know, I might side with you on this one.  You were short with your answer, but that was no reason to leave us.”

“I wasn’t short with him.”

“Benson, you were so clearly miffed about something.  Did you two have some sort of encounter lately I don’t know about?”

“No, not at all.  We haven’t even spoken in a week.”

Jordan chuckled and ran the towel over his suit, not that it did him much good.  “Maybe that’s the problem.  He’s feeling neglected.”

“That’s not—that logic doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does if he, you know, has a crush on you too.”

“I don’t have a crush on him.  We’re not in middle school.”

“Alright, you’re hot for him.”

“Jordan,” Benson said sharply and glanced down the empty row of lockers.  Jordan winced as he realized they might not be alone in the locker room.  At least they hadn’t used any names.  Though pronouns could be just as damning in small towns.

“Okay,” Jordan said, “I know a way to get back at him.”

Benson tossed his wadded up towel at Jordan’s head and walked out of the locker room.  Jordan wasn’t far behind and they got a few snickers sent in their direction as they crossed the bullpen.  The thunder was still sporadic enough that every squishy step was heard as they made their way to their office.  Benson felt Jordan tap his shoulder and he turned to look at him, but the tall man was bent over at the waist and looking toward Oska’s desk.

“Bunny!” Jordan called out.  “Come see me!”

The police dog yelped excitedly and dashed across the room to jump on Jordan.  She completely ignored Oska’s shouted command to return.  The officer crossed the room, his eyebrow twitching in irritation and Benson couldn’t keep the smirk off his face.  Jordan grinned at Oska as he scratched the side of Bunny’s head where she’d laid it against his leg.

“This is the most disciplined dog I’ve ever trained, Agent Szustakowski.  When she’s on duty she obeys all commands and ignores all distractions.  And then _you_ came along.”

Jordan’s reply was to bend over and kiss Bunny on the head.  She whined and wiggled under him, trying to kiss him in return.

“Really?  Just because I let you two get a little wet?”

“A little?” Benson griped.

Oska looked at him, a small smile on his face, and Benson could see his eyes sweep over his body.  And that absolutely did not make him feel all tingly.  Oska shrugged a graceful shoulder.

“You done with my dog?” Oska asked.

“I guess,” Jordan sighed.  “I can’t have dogs in my apartment.  It sucks.”

“Did the fax from Missouri come in yet?” Oska asked, apropos of nothing.

Benson raised an eyebrow at him.  “How do you know about that?”

“Your business isn’t really that secret around here.”

“No, it hasn't come yet.  But, can I ask you who I need to talk to about getting into the evidence locker?”

Oska crossed his arms over his chest, but still allowed Jordan to pet Bunny.  “Depends.  What do you need?”

“I did a search of old police records the other day with certain keys words to see if there had been any unsolved murders here in the past that could indicate he got his start here but hadn’t developed his technique yet.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Not murders, per se.  There was something about animal mutilations, but the culprit was a minor so the records are sealed.  But, I thought if the photos or reports of the type of damage were still available, that could be something to consider.  A lot of serial killers start with animals when they’re young.”

“I think, Dan could—hey Dan!” Oska turned and addressed a man who had to be three days away from retirement.  “Can you help Agent Remick with—?”

“Nope.  Squirrel licker got loose.”

“Fuck me, again?”

Dan shrugged and Oska’s sigh was closer to a groan.

“Agent Szustakowski?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you keep an eye on Bunny for me?”

“Sure!”

Benson and Oska stared at Bunny and Jordan.  It was hard to tell which one was the bigger puppy.  Oska turned and waved a hand indicating for Benson to follow him.

“Do you remember the case file number?” Oska asked.

“I wrote it down.  I’ll be right back.”

Benson jogged over to their office and unlocked the door.  Fortunately his notepad was sitting on his desk and not in the safe with the laptops.  Benson shrugged out of his waterlogged jacket, plucking his credential from the breast pocket, and draped it over the back of his desk chair to dry.  He slid the leather rectangle into his pants pocket and pulled at his dress shirt to keep it from sticking to his body.  Some of it was still dry, but half of the front was wet and he wished he'd worn an undershirt since his nipple was pretty visible whenever the thin fabric plastered itself to his skin.

He walked back into the bullpen and came up behind Oska just as he’d pulled up a DOS-based looking query search.  Benson read off the file number and Oska typed it in.  Like yesterday, the records had been scrubbed of any personally identifying information.  Oska scrolled down and then tapped the screen with his finger.

“So, we still have some pictures of the mutilated bodies of the animals.  But, this record is from 1992.  More than likely we don’t store that in this building anymore.  You can check down in the evidence locker, but they’ve been moving the old records around for long term storage and stuff that’s twenty years old, probably isn’t there anymore.”

“Well, can I get in there?  Without an Elton officer escort?”

Oska made a face.  “Probably not.  Hey, Reggie—”

“Hey, Oska, can it wait?” a young officer in uniform replied as she passed by the desk.  “Got a domestic call.”

Oska turned in his chair and looked at the man in the desk across the aisle from him.

“Nope.  I got a mountain of paperwork to do because your dog just had to find fifty kilos of coke in the trunk of a tourist’s car.”

Oska frowned at the back of the man’s head.

“Come on, Officer Mercer,” Benson said, drawing his attention.  “I’m sure the potheads aren’t coming out in this storm.”

“Is that really all you think I do?  Bust kids for smoking up?”

Benson didn’t smile, but he was pretty sure Oska could tell that he wanted to.  Then the officer huffed in defeat.

“Is the idea of escorting me to the evidence locker really that repellent?”

Lightning flashed outside the windows followed by a loud crack of thunder.  The bullpen went silent for a moment as everyone held their breath, but then the low level buzz resumed as people returned to work.

Benson laughed uneasily, “Is that a yes?”

Oska cracked a smile, but then stifled it.  “Just come on.”

They traipsed down the hallway that led to the basement stairs and out of the corner of his eye Benson saw Jordan giving Bunny a sausage link as he coaxed her into the FBI office space.  The storm was so miserable that there was virtually no difference between upstairs and the basement with its complete lack of windows.

They headed toward Nic’s laboratory, a route Benson was very familiar with now, but peeled off to the left at the entrance to the evidence locker.  A young officer sat ramrod straight in his chair and diligently made sure Oska and Benson were very thorough when they filled out the sign-in sheet.  He unlocked the floor to ceiling chain link cage door and let them in, locking it behind them.  Oska led Benson through and around several shelves stuffed floor to ceiling with boxes and even a row of refrigerators on one side.  In the back was a door that led into a room that was easily a thousand square feet and completely filled with oversized file cabinets that were as tall as he was.  Benson let out a low whistle.

“How much crime do you guys have in Elton?”

Oska smiled and flicked on a light switch.  A couple of fluorescent lights flickered on, but left most of the room in dim shadows.

“When the new station was built twenty years ago the idea was to be able to store _all_ of Elton’s records.  Dating back from the mid eighteen hundreds.  The plan has since been reevaluated.”

Benson snorted as they walked along the rows, checking the labels for the beginning of the file number they were looking for.

“A lot of the records were moved to the new city hall.  Old census and birth and death records.  Stuff like that.”

“Why was that ever stored in the police station anyway?”

“This room is lined with steel.”

“Fireproof.”

“You got it."

Benson snorted.  "And Superman proof."

Oska shot him a derisory expression.  "You’re thinking of lead.”

Benson opened his mouth to retort something clever, but then realized he had nothing to counter that.

"Anyway, most of these file cabinets are empty.”

“Why?  If you have the space?”

“They’ve been moved to another facility for electronic conversion.  I can’t remember if we asked for the hardcopies back or not.  Seems like we should have though.  Oh, here we are.”

Oska turned down a narrow row and followed it halfway down before turning to the right, skimming his fingers over cabinet labels as he walked a few more paces.  Benson was transfixed.  His fingers were long and thin and deceptively delicate looking.  He could think of few things to do with those fingers.  He shook himself and focused on Oska’s face again.  It didn’t really help.  He was clean shaven today, which was not always the case, and even in the shadows his eyes were ridiculously fucking blue.

“It should be in this one,” Oska said as he stopped in front of a cabinet, slim fingers hooking inside the handle.

Benson stepped forward and slid his fingers through Oska’s hair and around to grasp the side of his jaw so he could turn his head to face him.  Oska's startled expression almost matched Benson's surprise at his own actions.

_So much for propriety_ , Benson thought as he held Oska in a half embrace and leaned forward.  He kissed him, barely repressing a moan as the feeling of Oska’s soft, full lips was even better than he remembered.  And he had been trying to remember almost daily.

Oska pushed him back slightly.  “Remick!  Seriously, you and your timing.”

Benson pulled him back in, running his hand up and down Oska’s arm while the other held the back of his head.

“Not my fault,” he murmured around a kiss.  “I think it’s yours.”  Kiss.  “Remember Gus said you have terrible timing?”  Kiss.  “I can’t help it.”  A longer kiss.

“I bet you could if you tried…nm.”  Tongues brushed together.  “Damn it, Remick.”  Kiss.  “I am not—” kiss “going to make out—” a longer kiss “with you in the—oh, fuck.”

They both stopped talking for several long minutes.  They kept their hands above the waist (mostly because their guns and other belt attachments made an effective barrier to all points south), and just allowed their lips and tongues and occasionally teeth to explore the other now that they had the wherewithal to do so.

A thud outside the file room made them startle apart, but Benson kept an arm around Oska’s waist, not letting him go far.  They stood silent, panting slightly, as they listened to see if the person was coming into the file room.  There were a few more bangs and then the distant sound of the chain link door shutting.  Oska sighed in relief and gave Benson the stink eye, which just made him smile, which made Oska scowl harder.  Benson leaned forward and kissed a wandering trail down Oska’s jaw line.

“Okay, this time the timing will be your fault.  Get off me.”

Benson might have considered listening to him if he’d had the slightest bit of conviction in his voice.  And if his arm wasn’t locked around the back of Benson’s neck.

“No, it’s all you, Oz,” Benson breathed in deeply as he buried his nose just behind Oska’s ear.

Oska gripped one of his shoulders and the arm around his neck moved enough for Oska to slide his fingers through Benson’s hair.

“For fuck’s sake—Rem-Remick…”

Oska hissed in a sharp breath as Benson sucked his earlobe into his mouth and worried it with his teeth gently.

“Oska, Oska, my name is Os _ka_ …Benson.”

“Okay.”

Benson let go of the earlobe and licked the nearby skin.  Oska shifted against him and Benson tightened his arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

“Come on, Benson, we can control ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself.  You’re not the one under a timing curse.”  Benson’s hand strayed lower.  Fuck, he really needed to stop.

“Oh, so you believe in curses and hexes, huh?”  Benson was surprised to hear the suddenly hard, bitter edge to Oska’s voice.  “Maybe we should broadcast that and use you as bait for the Angel Slayer.”

Benson straightened and pulled back.  He felt a sick roll of nausea through his gut.  He’d fucking done it again.  Oska immediately looked contrite, but it didn’t register.  There was something wrong with him.  He’d never been turned on by power dynamics before—why couldn’t he leave this particular victim alone?

“Benson, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—”

Benson cut him off and pulled on the cabinet drawer Oska had been about to open earlier.  Even before it was all the way out, Benson could tell it was empty.  Oska sighed softly, either at the situation or the empty drawer, and pushed it closed again.

“I guess it’s been moved.  I’ll put in a request to have it sent back here.  Shouldn’t take more than a week if it's still in our possession.”

“Okay.  Thanks.”

Benson turned on his heel and began to weave his way out of the labyrinth of file cabinets.

“Benson—”

Fortunately he had the rectangle of light from the door leading back to the main room of the evidence locker to guide him.  Just as he reached the door, a hand shot out, slamming it shut and almost hitting him in the face.  He started to turn around but was stopped as Oska crowded him against the door.  He turned his head slightly and his cheek brushed Oska’s nose.

“Benson,” he said softly, voice curling around his ear.  “I’m not going to say there wasn’t real anger and a very large desire to turn your face into pulp at one point, but from the _moment_ we hit that bed—you haven’t done anything to me I haven’t _also_ wanted.  Okay?”

Benson licked his lips and turned his head just a bit more, feeling Oska’s lips on his skin—his breath warm and smelling of cinnamon.  If he craned his neck just a bit more…their lips just brushed together and the door in front of him pushed open, smacking his head and sending him and Oska stumbling back.  The person trying to open the door paused, and then tried again.  Benson moved his hand from rubbing his throbbing temple to his forehead, which would be a more plausible place for him to get hit if they were exiting like two normal people.

Russ peeked around the door.  “You okay?”

Benson nodded.  “Yeah, just tried to be in the same place as the door at the same time.”

Russ smiled.  “Newtonian physics are a bitch, huh?”

“Little bit.  You need something from the file room of doom?”

“No, I came looking for you.  Oska, you’re helping him look for a file?”

“Yes,” Oska replied.

“Well, you can keep looking, but I’ve got to steal Benson away.  We got a call.”

Benson felt his stomach drop.

 

~~~

 

Jordan walked the circuit again.  Head, shoulders, knees, and toes.  All the other parts were set end to end in the shape of a coffin around the main focus.  The sternum had been clipped from the rib cage and lay by the left shoulder with the word "Apofael" cut into the skin.  Next to the right shoulder was a bit of flesh Nic had identified as the victim's labia.  It had lost its shape, but it didn't take much imagination to read the brand: adulterer.

Jordan stopped by the bottom of the coffin, closest to the toes.  He scrubbed a hand over his face.  This was the worst kind of killer to deal with.  He wasn’t doing this in response to some deep seeded emotional issue.  He wasn’t lashing out in response to some childhood trauma.  He wasn’t being told to do it by god or his dog or the alien overlords.  And he wasn’t crazy.  He was doing this because it was a fun  _game_.  It was a joke.  It had nothing to do with the victims, and everything to do with the investigators.  He liked the attention and he liked seeing them work; that last part is what worried Jordan the most.  The only way this could be fun for him was if he was seeing them run around in circles trying to figure everything out.  So, the question was is he watching from afar or does he have insider access?  He intended to talk to Benson about that later in private; no sense getting people riled up or upset by sharing controversial theories too soon.

Benson was up by the head with Russ, but they weren’t looking at that.  They were crouching down and appeared to be looking at the placement of the coffin-shaped body parts and gauging the distance between each piece.  Ann was in the front hallway, trying to get some sense out of the man that had found her.  He’d been sobbing non-stop since as long as Jordan had been there, and they’d been at the scene for over an hour now.

Jordan walked back around the body to the top of the coffin and Benson and Russ stood up.  Jordan raised his eyebrows in silent question.

Benson barely suppressed an eye roll, but Jordan knew it wasn’t directed at him.  “Do you have any idea how long it would take to get this lined up this perfectly?  I’m pretty sure he used a fucking ruler.”

“I don’t understand why these particular parts were placed inside the coffin though,” Russ said.

“The song?” Jordan suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, that kid’s song: Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes…” Jordan sang softly.

Russ made a face.  “Seriously?”

“It’s a game,” Jordan replied.  “This whole thing.  But why is this one so…perfectly planned?”

“And the last one was a clusterfuck?” Benson asked.  He rubbed his eyes with his fingers.  “Something isn’t right, here,” he murmured.  “Smith was meticulous.  Thompson was a mess.  And now we’re back to this?”

Jordan shrugged.  “Like I said—”

“It’s a game, sure, but all games have rules.”

“Do they?” Russ interjected.  “We have rules  _we_  follow, but does this guy?  I understand some killers like to think of playing with the police as a game—and they do follow certain rules to make it fun and interesting.  But—maybe we’re not really understanding this guy’s motives.”

“Well, if he’s not doing god’s work and he’s not fucking with us, then what is it?”

Russ swallowed and looked down.  “I don’t know, Benson.  Maybe he’s just bored.”

“That’s not—”

“Hey, guys,” Ann said as she came up to them.  “So, I think the forensic team is ready to start bagging the pieces, and we’ve kept Mr. Hannigan here long enough.  I think any further questioning needs to be done in a neutral location like the station because I can barely get a coherent word out of him here.”

“Did he identify the victim?”

“He says it’s Sarah Vanderpool.”

“Anybody here could tell you that,” Russ said.  “She’s pretty well known in town.  Very vocal at town hall meetings and the like.  Ran for mayor a couple times, but always on a platform that was a little too conservative to get any real numbers behind her.”

“Is he her husband?” Benson asked.

“No,” Russ shook his head.  “Gilbert, Mr. Hannigan, is a heating and cooling technician and definitely runs in different circles than Sarah.  To be honest, I’m not sure what he’s doing here.”

Jordan glanced down at the branded body part.  “Could it have something to do with the supposed crime she was punished for?”

Russ raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head to the side.  “I suppose it could.  But, honestly, I just don’t see Sarah being willing to slum it that hard.”

Benson let out a soft huff that may have been a laugh and glanced at Russ.  The man gave him a half smile and shrugged in return.

“Hannigan said he was here on a service call,” Ann said.  “We’re obviously going to need to check on that with his employer.”

“All right.  Let’s let forensics do their job here and reconvene at the station,” Benson said.  “We’ve obviously got some questions to answer here.  Like, how long was Sarah missing and did anyone know that she was?”

“And why is Hannigan here?” Russ asked.

“And who is she having an affair with if the brand is true?” Jordan chimed in.

“And…” Ann said, looking around, “where’s all the blood?”

The other three looked at her for a moment and then turned to look at the body.  There were no stains under the carpet and no bloody trail leading from another room.

Benson let out an aggravated noise.  “And we’re back to a dump site.  Does this fucker have schizophrenia or something?”

 

~~~

 

Benson sat patiently, waiting for Gilbert Hannigan to blow his nose—for what had to be the twentieth time.  The man was small in stature and in constitution.  He had a strangely angular face that’s looks were not improved by bloodshot eyes and the glaringly red nose he was rubbing raw with the cheap tissues the police kept on hand.

“I don’t understand why,” Hannigan said miserably as he shifted in the hard plastic chair he sat on.  “Why her?”

It wasn’t the first time Hannigan had muttered that question and Benson was all but convinced that Hannigan hadn’t shown up to the Vanderpool house just to service her heating system.  They had managed to work out that he hadn’t spoken to Vanderpool recently.  The appointment actually had been set up through his company about a week and a half ago, by Vanderpool herself, during a week when her husband was out of town on business.  As far as Benson knew they hadn’t managed to get a hold of Mr. Vanderpool yet to tell him about his wife’s murder, but his company had been the one to provide the information that he was away on business.  Sarah Vanderpool didn’t have a job and had no regular meetings or appointments to keep in the previous week.  She could have been missing for days and no one would have noticed.  In fact, no one  _had_  noticed.  Benson was now convinced the killer was taking the time to stalk his victims to know which ones would not be reported missing for several days—or he knew them well enough to already know that.

“Mr. Hannigan,” Benson said.  “Can you remember if anything seemed strange or out of place when you approached the house?”

Hannigan shook his head.  “No, nothing.  I already answered these questions at the house.  Why am I here?  Can I leave?  Am I a suspect?  Are you charging me with anything?”

Benson gave a small shake of his head and pretended to write something down on his notepad, noting the way Hannigan’s eyes tracked the movement.  “No.  Not yet anyway.  We’ve confirmed that you did have an appointment to be at the house and you’ve showed up to work regularly the last week.  And you were with friends in Boston last night to attend the Bruins home opener.  It seems unlikely you would have had the time to show her such attention.”

“And I wouldn’t!” Hannigan shouted, finally showing an emotion other than weepiness.  “I wouldn’t hurt her!  I lov—”

Hannigan clamped his mouth shut and blew into his tissue again.  Benson nodded and closed his notepad.

“Thank you for answering our questions, Mr. Hannigan.  We’ll contact you again if we need anything.”  Hannigan glanced up and Benson made hard eye contact with him.  “I suggest you stay in the area for the indefinite future.”

Hannigan sagged and his eyes clouded.  “I’m not going anywhere.  You can be certain of that.”

Benson stood up and so did Hannigan.  They walked to the door of the interrogation room and Benson couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the two way mirror.  All he saw was his reflection and Hannigan’s, but he knew there were at least five people on the other side of it.

Benson escorted Hannigan through the halls of the station until they reached the bullpen.  He was going to walk him all the way to the door when a man shouted, “You son of a bitch!”

There was a flurry of activity and some more shouting and Benson found himself trying to pull a large, heaving man off the diminutive Hannigan.  Hannigan was cowering near a cabinet and it took three people to pull his attacker away from him.  The man wasn’t athletic or particularly strong, but he must have outweighed Benson by at least a hundred pounds.  When he was more or less under control he was panting harshly, the gasping breaths of a man terribly out of shape.

“What did you do to her?” the man yelled at Hannigan.  “They won’t even let me see her body!”

“I didn’t kill her!” Hannigan sniveled.  “I just found her.”

“Oh, ‘just found her.’  You lowlife piece of shit!  You were fucking her!  You put your filthy hands on her and then you killed her!”

Hannigan pulled himself up in a surprising display of courage.  “I only touched her because the thought of you touching her made her sick!”

Mr. Vanderpool, Benson assumed because really, who else could it be, screamed and lunged forward again.

Hannigan shrank back and hid behind a nearby officer, while another uniformed officer, Russ, and Benson kept Mr. Vanderpool from wringing his scrawny neck.  It took less effort to get Mr. Vanderpool under control this time as the man was rapidly running out of steam.

“Mr. Vanderpool, why don’t you come sit with me?” Russ suggested.  “We’ll get some coffee and I’ll explain what we know.  And then I will check with the medical examiner about getting you in to see her, okay?”

Mr. Vanderpool nodded acquiescence because he was wheezing too hard to answer properly.  Russ clapped him on the back and began to lead him back to a secluded investigation room.  Benson shot him a grateful look and Russ nodded in acknowledgement.  Jordan came into the bullpen just as the two men were escorted in opposite directions.  He raised his eyebrows at Benson.

“So, what’d I miss?”

“Well, we pretty much got confirmation that Sarah Vanderpool was committing adultery with Gilbert Hannigan.”

Jordan’s brow creased in thought.  “So, the crimes are real then.  Maybe that’s the rule.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can we…” Jordan trailed off and nodded his head toward their office.

Benson nodded in return and they crossed the bullpen to enter their office and shut the door behind them.

“What’s up, Jordan?” Benson asked, crossing his arms over his chest and giving him his undivided attention.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this whole thing,” Jordan started.  He winced and said, “Well, of course it’s not right—”

“I know what you mean, Jordan.  Keep talking.  Tell me your thoughts.”

“Well, this last crime scene was—it was a joke, Benson.  I’m sorry, but it was.  We can try to read meaning into the placement of the body parts and how it was cut and why certain pieces were placed where—but I think it’s meaningless.  He was poking fun at us.  Maybe because we said his last work was so sloppy—but you heard Nic, this scene so far has been immaculate!  Why be careful this time and not the last?  You wondered if he’s schizophrenic—maybe he is!  Maybe he has a copycat.  Maybe there are two.  Maybe he’s deliberately making these scenes so confusing and different because he likes us trying to figure them out.  Benson—” Jordan stopped.  Even in privacy with just Benson around, he felt uncomfortable speaking his next thought.  “I think he has an inside view of what we’re doing.  Police, forensics, maybe even media.  He’s hearing things…”

Jordan heaved in a breath and let it out harshly.  Benson uncrossed his arms and placed a comforting hand on Jordan’s shoulder.

“That’s a lot of thoughts.”

“I know, I’m sorry—”

"No, that’s a good thing.  It’s better to be open to all possibilities.  And you’re right.  He’s absolutely playing with us.  That’s why I don’t think it’s a copycat or that there are two separate killers.  He’s going from organized to disorganized killing and back again.  And I think it may be his frame of mind that dictates how each kill turns out.  When he’s organized, he plays a game with us, but when he’s disorganized, he’s out of control.  And that will make him slip up.  He already has once—when Thompson got a hold of him.

“Now, I don’t want to wait for him kill again so we can get another mistake out of him.  Let’s concentrate on what we have, figure out his game, and nail his ass to the wall, okay?”

He gave Jordan’s shoulder a couple of pats and Jordan nodded.  Benson glanced at the window, surprised to see it was full dark.  He checked his watch; it was almost eight o’clock.

“Well, I think we still have some work to do here tonight, so why don’t you run over to Nell’s and get us a couple of hamburgers to tide—”

“Benson!  Jordan!”

The agents turned in mild surprise when the office door flung open and Ann burst in.

“Ann, what’s up?” Benson asked, taking a step toward her.

She shut the door behind her and held up a plastic bag with a yellow strip across the top indicating it was an evidence container.  In the bag was an index card.

“The forensic team found this at the Vanderpool house.  They did a search of the whole premises, looking for the room where she might have been held captive or tortured or…drained.”

Benson took the baggy and looked at the note card.  In neat handwriting with what looked like a Sharpie marker, the word ‘Apofael’ was written in the middle of the page.  Benson looked up at Ann.

“Did one of the technicians write this down when they saw the body?”

“No.  It was in her office.  In a pile of junk mail.”

Jordan took the bag from Benson and looked at it.  “She had it before she was killed?”

Ann nodded, not able to stop the smile pulling at her corner of her mouth.  “I think he sent it to her before he ever captured her.  I think he was marking her as his next victim.  Guys, we have got to figure out what the angel names mean.  If he’s actually warning them beforehand, we’ll know who the victim is and—”

“Wait, Ann,” Benson interrupted her.  “This is crucial evidence, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.  We have no indication that the other two victims received something similar.  The killer could have brought it as a reminder of sorts.

“You’re right though; we need to get on these angel names.  Jordan and I will bring in the best materials we have tomorrow and we’ll all start sorting through and reading it.  We also need to determine if the other victims did receive these notes.  First and foremost though, we need to know what the forensics says about it.”

“Nic’s technicians are working on that now,” Ann said.  “Unfortunately there are no fingerprints, but she’s analyzing the paper and the ink now.  Should have the results in a day or two.”

Benson nodded.  “Good.  This is good.  It’s something at least.  Does Nic have any other word on the body?”

“Not much right now.  They’re still going over everything.  But, she did say that the blood they found in the containers in the kitchen—"

“Let me guess, it was hers?” Jordan muttered.

“Yes.  It’s definitely hers.  And while Nic can’t say anything definitively yet, she thinks based on the state of the blood when they originally found it—Sarah was killed today.  Possibly within an hour or two of Hannigan finding her.”

“Do you think he knew when Hannigan was coming over?”

“I’m positive he knew,” Benson said.  “You’re absolutely right, Jordan.  He’s baiting us.  He wants us to discover his projects and play along with him.”

“Does that rule Hannigan out then?” Ann asked.  “The last call he was on took up the entire morning and the customer stayed with him the whole time.”

Benson half-shrugged.  “Not one hundred percent, but I don’t think we need to focus on him.  For one thing, gauging time of death based on blood congealment is probably not an exact science which I’m sure Nic will tell us.  But, I also don’t think Hannigan did this.  He was having a true emotional response to her death.  I don’t think our killer could fake it like that.  I don’t think he’d even bother to try.”

The three stood in little circle together, arms all crossed over their chests as they thought.  Finally Jordan broke the silence.

“So, three hamburgers from Nell’s then—?”

Benson hummed a pondering noise.  “No, maybe not.  There’s nothing more we can do tonight I don’t think.  It will take some time for the forensics to tell us something, Hannigan has been released, Vanderpool won’t be ready to talk tonight, I’m sure about that, and all our angel research is in my motel room.  We should break for tonight and get a good’s night sleep for a lot of reading tomorrow.  Plus I’m sure interviewing Vanderpool won’t be pleasant.  Moreover, Ann, I don’t like you having to drive an hour home too late at night.”

“Benson—”

“It’s every day and night though, Ann.  And we’re working over twelve hours as it is.  Maybe you should ask Muff about getting a motel room here too.”

“I don’t think I can.  Portsmouth is actually less than forty miles away, so it falls into the ‘under fifty miles it’s a normal daily commute’ zone.”

Benson frowned.

“It’s okay, Benson.  It’s not a bad drive.  We don’t have traffic like you do down in DC.  It’s less than an hour both ways.”

“Still—”

“Would you be this concerned if I were a man?”

Benson narrowed his eyes playfully at her.  “ _Yes_.”

She laughed and patted his arm.  “Well, thanks for the concern.  I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow.  Seven right?”

Benson nodded.  “You got an umbrella?”

“Is it still raining?  Geez, I’ve been in the basement so long I didn’t even notice.  Yeah, I got one.”

“Drive safe, Ann,” Jordan said.

Ann smiled, her eyes brightening with amusement.  “Wow.  I really don’t know what to do with the attention of two such handsome men.”

“Get your ass OPR-ed for sexual harassment, that’s what,” Benson said.  “Get out of here.”

Ann laughed and waved goodnight.  Benson turned to walk over to his desk to shut down his laptop, and he noticed that Jordan was standing still, looking at the door Ann had passed through on her way out.

“Jordan?”

Jordan’s head snapped to Benson.  “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.  Just, thinking.”

“Well, try to turn it off.  Let your subconscious do a little work for now.”

Jordan began shutting down his computer as well.  “What do you mean?”

“You know, the brain is a funny thing.  Sometimes it observes things you don’t consciously record.  And sometimes it can make connections for you that you would otherwise never see.”

“And what good does it do if it’s stuck in our heads?” Jordan asked, slipping his computer into the safe for overnight storage.

“You don’t remember your dreams?” Benson asked, curious.

“Very rarely.”

“Hunh.”

Jordan laughed incredulously.  “Please don’t tell me you solved a case once by dreaming the answer.”

“Not  _solved_ …”

Jordan laughed again and shook his head.  “I’m teamed up with a psychic.  Awesome.”

“I’m not a psychic.  Just…go get the car and pull it around, huh?”  Benson tossed him the sole umbrella they had between them.  “I’ll finish locking up here and meet you at the front door.”

“Okay,” Jordan said as he left, still chuckling.

“Asshole,” Benson murmured fondly and finished securing their sensitive materials in the safe and locked it.  He was pulling on his dried out but wrinkly mess of a suit jacket when there was a soft knock at the open door.  Benson looked up and felt his heart take an extra hard beat as his eyes landed on Oska.

“Hey,” he said softly.  “Um, I mean, hi,” he amended in a more professional tone.  “What are you still doing here?”

“I’m on the swing shift.  I’m here until ten.”

“Oh.  So.  Um…”

“I found this in the copy room,” Oska said, holding out a thin stack of papers.  “It must have come while you all were out and someone just set it aside in the inbox rather than bringing it here.”

“Oh, the fax from Missouri!”  Benson walked over and took the stack of papers from Oska.  “I completely forgot these were coming today.  We locked the office when we left, so I guess they couldn’t have been dropped off even if someone did think to bring them over.  Thank you, for bringing it.”

Oska shrugged.  He looked like he was about to speak, but Benson was too busy glancing over the pages to really pay attention to him.

“Okay, then.  I’ll see you later.”

Benson scanned a few more lines before Oska’s words registered.  He looked up and said, “Yeah, we—” to Oska’s retreating back.

Benson groaned softly to himself.  He hadn’t meant to blow him off, but he shouldn’t exactly be thinking he needed to use every opportunity to—to what?  Flirt?  Win him over?  Maybe it was better when they stayed out of each other’s way—

Benson sucked in a breath when he read one of the receipts.  “Oska!”  He reread it several times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

“What is it?”

Benson was startled by Oska’s return.  Then he realized he had called out for him.

“This receipt, for a coffin purchased from the funeral home in Missouri…”

“What about it?”

Benson handed him the paper.  Oska frowned at him, but took the paper and read it over.  His face turned to shock and he looked up at Benson.

“Natalia.  Natalia ordered the coffin?”

Benson put out a hand, showing he had no answers.  “What reason would she have to order a coffin?”

Oska looked over the receipt again.  “The dates are wrong.”

“What dates are wrong for what?”

“Nothing.  She ordered this a month before she was killed.  I wonder…if this was what she was talking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“All the teachers in the school are put in charge of certain school activities, like the autumn festival, Christmas parties, stuff like that.  Natalia was on the Halloween party team.  She was actually pretty excited about it and told me she had plans to go all out.  Maybe she ordered a real coffin for authenticity.”

“So early?  And why from Missouri?”

Oska shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

“Would anyone have had access to her accounts or credit cards?”

“It seems unlikely, they were all new accounts she’d opened after divorcing her husband and reverting back to her maiden name.”

“Did she—Smith is her maiden name?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.  But.  Your name is…”

Benson trailed off.  It was none of his business, so he didn’t ask.  But maybe Oska wouldn’t mind telling him.  He could see the man repress a sigh, but he answered.

“We’re actually stepsiblings.  My mother married her father when I was seven and she was three.  But, she’s always been my sister.”

Benson nodded.  “I see.”

Their eyes met for a moment and they just stared for what was probably not a socially acceptable amount of time.  Benson shook himself.

“So, um, new accounts.  So her ex-husband didn’t have access to them.  And they were new enough they she probably couldn’t have run into identity theft.  Did she report her cards stolen or were her bank records checked for any strange purchases?  I guess not otherwise that would be in the file.  And we would have noticed her making a purchase at an out of state funeral home.  Why weren’t her bank records or credit cards run?”

“I think they were.  Only it was a thirty day check.”

“Maybe we should request to have a full financial background check run,” Benson said as he flipped through the other receipts.  “See if there are any more unusual purchases.”

“Yeah,” Oska scoffed softly.  “And we’re back to investigating the victims.”

Benson looked up sharply.

Oska dropped his eyes immediately.  “I’m sor—”

“No, you know what?  Fuck you, Oska.  We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

Oska eyes flashed with anger as he looked back up.  Then he shook his head with a smile that was anything but amused.

“I’m allowed to have my doubts regarding your investigating abilities.  We’re at three murders now and you don’t have a single lead.  Zero suspects.  You’re just chasing your tails!”

“Actually, Officer Mercer, since you’re not working this case you don’t know what evidence we have, what leads we’re following, or who we have an active interest in.  So, you can keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Who do you have an active interest in?  Natalia?  Me?  How are those leads panning out?” Oska sneered.

Benson stepped forward without thinking and grasped Oska’s forearm.  Oska jerked back, but Benson kept his grip, and suddenly they were staring at each other with a dangerous energy charging the air around them.  But, it wasn’t anger and accusation and hatred.  The moment they’d touched the atmosphere had taken a distinct turn.  Benson took in a shallow breath and licked his lips.  Oska’s eyes followed the movement, and then he gave a slight shake of his head.

“We’ve got to do something about this,” Oska said, his eyes still on Benson’s lips.

“I can think of a few things,” Benson murmured, feeling only marginally like a cheesy idiot.

Oska’s eyes flicked up to meet his.  “I meant we need to figure out how to talk to each other without getting worked up like dogs in heat.”

Benson released Oska’s arm and some of the tension drained away.  He looked at the tile floor.  “Yeah, I knew what you meant.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want what _you_ meant.”

Benson looked at him with a small shake of his head.  “Oska, don’t—”

“Hey, Benson—oh, hi, Oska.”

Benson and Oska tried to hide their startled reactions to the voice and both took an inconspicuous step away from each other as they turned to face Russ.

“Hi, Russ,” Benson said.  “You got something?”

Russ’ eyes lingered on Oska for a moment, and then Oska looked like he realized something.

“Oh, right.  Official business.  I was just dropping off the fax.  I’ll get out of your way.”

“Not in the way,” Russ said.  “Thanks, though, for getting the fax for us.”

“Sure.”

Oska walked out of the room and Benson felt a ridiculous urge to stomp the floor in frustration, but he refrained and looked at Russ.

“Um, actually, it’s not a big deal at all.  I just had Mr. Vanderpool driven home, and set up an interview with him tomorrow morning.  Hopefully he’ll cool off—a little bit at least—in the meantime.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.  And thanks again, Russ, for handling the situation.”

Russ smiled broadly.  “No problem.  And, um,” he hesitated and toned down his smile, “I know you and Oska had some issues when you first got here.  Are you two still having problems?  I know him pretty well.  I mean, I could talk to him for you—”

“No,” Benson said quickly.  “Thank you, but no.  That won’t be necessary.  We’ve—well, I wouldn’t say we’ve reached an understanding, but we’re dealing with it.  Sort of.”

“Is he being a problem?” Russ asked, suddenly serious.

“No.  Not at all.  Um, you know what?  It’s late and Jordan is actually waiting for me outside.  We’ll pick up tomorrow.  Hopefully Nic will have something for us, and these receipts need to be sorted through.  Plus all the angel research and the Vanderpool interview.  Big day tomorrow.  Be sure to get some rest.”

Russ smiled again.  “Right.  See you in the morning.”

Benson locked the door behind them and said goodnight to Russ.  He didn’t look to see if Oska was at his desk.  He walked out of the station and jogged the five feet in the rain to where the Accent was parked against the curb.  He hopped in and Jordan put the car in gear.

“What took you so long?”

“The fax from Missouri came in after you left.  I couldn’t help glancing through it.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Well, Natalia Smith bought a coffin from them.”

Jordan made a face.  “That’s weird.”

“I know.”

“Hunh.  Should we stay and look into to it?”

“No.  I need a shower and I need sleep.  We’ve got all day tomorrow.”

“Okay.”  Jordan drove out of the parking lot.  “So you just swung by the copy room on your way out, or…?”

“Oh, no.  An officer saw it in the tray and dropped it off.”

“Oh.”

They drove for a couple minutes and then Jordan cocked his head.  “An officer?”

Benson sighed.  “Oska brought it over.”

“Oh, now it makes sense.  You made me wait in the car for nearly ten minutes because you were ‘glancing through the fax.’  You’ve got some weird euphemisms, dude.”

Benson shot him a disgusted look and Jordan just chuckled.

 

**Wednesday, October 9, 2013**

Jordan took down a note regarding angel hierarchy from the book he was reading and then glanced around the room.  Benson was leaning on his desk, finger stuck on the open page of a book as he skimmed through it.  Ann sat in an office chair, gently twisting back and forth as she perused a copy of  _Angels in the Occult_.  Russ sat on the floor with his back against the wall by the door, squeezing a stress-relief squishy ball in one hand as he turned the pages of his book with the other.

Jordan returned to reading.  Then all four started violently as their quiet research atmosphere was shattered when the door flung open and banged against the wall.  They all looked up to see ASAC James Muff.  He scowled at them.

“Sorry to disrupt your book club, ladies, but do you mind if we have a little progress update meeting?”

 

Jordan watched Benson shut the door to the conference room.  He’d already spent most of his morning on the phone with Aaron—and hadn’t spoken more than three words as he’d had to listen about how this case was now national news and they had better have some sort of statement if not answers to give the press.  It was times like those when being the junior agent with less responsibility was definitely a good thing.

Benson walked away from the door and took a seat next to Jordan.  Sitting at the round conference table were himself, Benson, Ann, Russ, Gus, James Muff, and James Muff’s surly scowl.

James opened with a succinct message to the group.  “Whose ass do I need to start chewing on to get some movement on this case?”

“I’m the lead investigator,” Benson said.  “That would be my ass.”

Jordan saw Russ bite his lip to hide a smile.

“Three murders.  In one month.  No suspects.  Zero evidence—”

“We don’t have zero evidence, James,” Ann spoke up.  Jordan hoped she was familiar enough with him to know whether or not that was a career ending move.  “But it does take time to process.  The same amount of time that it takes to process evidence when the kills are six months apart.  We have to bear in mind that this guy is a pro.  He has a lot of experience.  Possibly over nine years.

"You know me, James, and if I thought these DC agents were dragging their butts on the carpet, I would have taken over.  We’re doing everything we can.  We’re seeing this from a lot of different angles.  We have a lot of leads that we are doing our best to cover.  But, you know it takes time.  And this guy—he’s not giving us that.  But that will make him sloppy.”

“What kind of leads, Agent Russo?”

Jordan saw Ann’s shoulders tense slightly.  Clearly being addressed formally unnerved her.

“Well, for one thing, we’re pretty certain he’s marking his victims and even notifying them of that fact.  He sends the name of the angel he carves onto their chests to them before he kidnaps them.  We found a note in Vanderpool’s home, and we sent a team back in to search Thompson’s house.  We found a note card with the name of the angel on it in one of the trash cans.  That tells us he received it after the last time his home was cleaned, which means he received it a week or less before he was discovered.  So, more than likely the kidnapping and torture doesn’t last more than a few days and the killer takes them shortly after delivering the note.  One wasn’t found in Smith’s home or desk at work, but one of her coworkers did remember hearing Smith mention something about a strange note.  She’d assumed it had been a secret admirer type of thing at the time, but said that Smith never said that.  Just that it was—”

“Okay,” James interrupted her.  “I got the picture.  He’s warning them ahead of time.  What do the angel names mean?”

Everyone shifted in their chairs.

“We’re working on that, sir,” Benson said.

“So, even if another victim gets a card, we won’t know what it means.”

“We’ll know to put them in protective custody at least.”

“Will we?  We didn’t know about the other notes beforehand.”

“The victims didn’t know what they were,” Gus interjected smoothly.  “If we inform the public, they’ll be able to come forward and ask for protection.”

“Is that such a good idea?” Russ asked.  “We let this news out, and I’m pretty sure the killer will stop sending the cards.”

“Maybe,” Benson agreed.  “Depends on how arrogant he is.  Another thing to consider is that if we announce this to the public it’s going to generate a lot of false leads and panicky people.”

“People are already panicking, Agent Remick.  People three states over are flipping out.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment as they considered their options.

“I think…” Russ said hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if he could speak, “…that we should not inform the public for now.”

Everyone looked at him and he looked nervous.  Benson gave him an encouraging nod and he spoke again.

“I mean, it will create panic every time someone gets an unmarked letter or has a note slipped under the door.  Stupid teenagers may do it to prank each other.  And now that the case is out there—that people are aware of the killer marking their victims with the names of angels—I think that if someone did receive a card it would seem unusual enough to make them question it.  Hopefully they would bring it to our attention.”

Benson nodded.  “That makes sense.  But if we have some way of warning the populace, and we don’t do it, forget the fall out we’ll receive from it.  It’s our ethical duty to do what we can to protect people.  I just don’t know on this one.”

No one else volunteered an opinion.

“How sure are we that this is the killer warning them ahead of time?” Muff broke the silence.  “We’ve got, two out of three?”

“Yes, sir.  Possibly three," Ann confirmed.

“But we don’t know three.  In fact, we don’t know that the killer isn’t planting these at the crime scenes after the fact.”

“And that’s a possibility,” Jordan said.  “This guy is all about the game.  Everything he does could have a specific meaning or it could just be a decoy to get us off chasing a lure.”

“Allure?” Gus asked.

“Like, the things dog chase at dog tracks.”

“Oh.  A  _lure_.”

“Alright,” James said.  “We don’t know if the notes are given to the victims before they are kidnapped.  We do know that the angel name is left on the body and that based on the murders in DC, they probably have some sort of meaning.  Let’s work on that angle since that’s what we know.  We won’t make any announcements about the cards just yet and keep that information in-house.  What else do we have?”

“Well,” Benson said, “despite my earlier reservations, I’m starting to become convinced that this guy is local.  And that he’s not new to the area.  He knows these victims too well.  Knows their routines, their habits.  Knows when they’ll go long stretches without being expected by people.  None of these victims have been reported missing—and they have been held and tortured for at least two or three days before their deaths.

“He is also someone who could somehow have access to personal information like credit card purchases.  The first victim actually bought the coffin she was found in.  A coworker confirmed that she’d had the idea to use one in the school’s Halloween festival even though she hadn’t known she’d already purchased it.  The funeral home is a chain, so when she ordered it online, the order got placed in the Kansas City, Missouri branch’s account.”

“So, we’re looking at people with access to financial records or good hacking skills.”

“Not necessarily,” Jordan said.  “It’s not like a package that big wouldn’t go unnoticed.  At the very least people at the post office saw it.”

“So now we’re thinking our guy is a mailman?” James asked crustily.

Benson shrugged a shoulder.  “Even serial killers have day jobs.”

“Or, the killer could have come across it in her basement when he attacked her,” Russ suggested.

“I guess.  But there’s not a lot of evidence to support that she was kidnapped from her home or held there while he tortured her.  But what I don’t get is why he stopped making the coffins by hand.  Smith was in a premade coffin, Thompson had none, Vanderpool had one made of her own body parts.  Why the switch?  He put such care in the craftsmanship of those coffins in DC.”

“They probably take a long time to make,” Ann said.  “He’s stepped up his game with the frequency of the kills.  He doesn’t have the time.”

Benson made a face but didn’t respond as he chewed on his thumbnail.  Jordan knew the look hadn’t been directed at Ann but at the situation.  He hoped she knew that.

"Regardless," Benson said sitting up.  "He's local.  And he's been to DC.  I was wondering if we could—"

"Access the private information of every citizen in my city?" Gus said with a disapproving look.

"That's not what I was going to say."

Gus chuckled humorlessly.  "Trust me, Agent, whatever you were about to say was going to violate a lot of people's right to privacy, so just get it out of your head."

Benson's eyes flicked to the side, but he did manage to not actually roll them.  They were all saved from further discussion (or argument) on that topic when someone rapped on the door and opened it.  Nic was halfway through the doorway before she noticed the large party gathered.

"Oh.  Oh, I'm sorry.  Dan said the agents were in here but he failed to mention you were all having a big powwow.  I'm sorry to interrupt."

"It's okay," Gus said.  "James, this is Dr. Nic Reading, our medical examiner."

"Pleasure," James grunted and somehow sounded like he meant it.  "I've been impressed with the thoroughness of your work on this case."

"Well, thank you."

"Did you have something for us, Nic?" Benson asked.

"Well, yes and no.  Just some more details of the kill, but nothing that will identify a suspect I don't think."

"Please share it with us," James said.

"Okay.  Um.  The first thing is that based on the injuries and clotting and healing of the body parts, I'm fairly certain she was kept alive and tortured for over five days before being bled out."

Everyone in the room shifted in their seats.

"And despite being cut into separate pieces, I was able to determine that both the vagina and anus suffered from sexual trauma.  I also found traces of phthalates on those tissues."

Jordan's brow creased.  "He's using dildos," he said.  "And old fashioned ones at that."

"Do we want to know why you know that?" Russ asked.

Jordan opened his mouth to respond, but Muff spoke up.

"Is that true?"

"Well," Nic answered, "phthalates are found in PVC rubber and that used to be the standard for making dildos.  Until it was discovered phthalates are carcinogens.  I think the killer has used other devices as well, both traditional and non-traditional, but the point I'm trying to hit on—and I think Jordan was as well—is that he's not raping them with his own member."

"Typical," Benson snorted.  "A psycho with mommy issues can't get it up so he takes it out on innocent people."

"He may not be impotent," Russ said.  "He might just know about forensics and not want to risk leaving the DNA."

"Yeah, sure."

"And what do you mean mommy issues?  What evidence do we have of that?"

"They all have mommy issues."

Russ opened his mouth to argue, but James stood up.  "All right, well, I think this meeting has run its course.  Gus and I are going to discuss the statement we're going to release to the press.  I want the four of you back in that room figuring out these damn angel names.  And Dr. Reading, do you have any other results to share before we break?"

"The analysis of the paper and ink of the cards with the angel names on them should be in by today as well as the results of the trace evidence gathered at Thompson's crime scene.  Vanderpool's is still being sorted through.  There were a lot of rooms in the house and we vacuumed and dusted for prints in all of them."

"All right then.  Always report immediately with new findings.  Don't worry about if we're in meetings or not."

"Yes, sir."

Everyone stayed seated and Nic stood awkwardly at the door.

"Didn't I just give you all assignments?  Git!"

The three agents and one detective stood up swiftly and exited the room.  As they entered the bullpen, Russ grasped Benson's elbow and made him stop.  Jordan slowed down too, not sure if the conversation was meant to be private or not.  Benson glanced down at Russ' hand when the man didn't let go, but didn't try to shake him off.

"Benson, I really hope you didn't mean what you said in there."

"What do you mean?"

"About those clichés about the killer.  We can't put this guy in a box.  I didn't think you'd be swayed by that pop psychology profiling bullshit."

Benson shifted his weight and it put his body at an angle that made Russ either let go or have to reach out to keep a hand on him.  He let go.

"Believe me, Russ, I'm not underestimating him.  But I'm not above ridiculing him.  I'm only a man."

Russ' face took on a strange expression and he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Oska came up and said, "Agent Remick, I was wondering if I could have a word?  Unless, I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"No," Benson said at the same time Russ said, "Yes."

They looked at each other and Benson patted Russ' shoulder.  "We can discuss this further if you'd like.  I don't want you thinking I'm not taking this case seriously."

"No, no of course not.  I know this case is—everything to you."

"Um, well, it's everything right now, definitely.  We should get back to our research.  I'll join you all shortly."

Russ nodded and walked toward the FBI office.  Jordan raised an eyebrow at Benson and he half shrugged one shoulder and waved a dismissive hand in the air.  Jordan and Ann left Benson to talk with Oska and joined Russ in the office.  He was staring at the latest entry to the whiteboard: Sarah Vanderpool, forty-two years old, married, no children, adulterer.  He turned around when he heard the agents enter.

"So, are we ready for more angelic knowledge?"

"No," Ann griped.   "But I guess that's not really an option."

Russ smiled.  "No, ASAC Muff seemed pretty clear.  I think I am going to go grab my desk chair though.  The floor is starting to get a little old."

Russ left and Ann turned to face Jordan.  She smiled at him.  It made her look very cute, but it just made Jordan's blood run cold.

"W-what?" he asked.

"Oh, relax.  It's nothing bad.  But—"

"But what?"

"Will you go over to Nell's and get me some loaded french fries?  I need carbs and cheese if I'm going to spend all afternoon reading about Zippity Do-Dah-el."

Jordan laughed.  "I haven't come across that angel yet."

"Oh, he protects against racial insensitivity."

Jordan laughed again and felt his smile just grow wider as he looked at Ann.  "You're kind of funny."

"And you're kind of tall.  Fries?"

"Right.  Fries."

Jordan checked to make sure he had his wallet and then left the office.  Benson was on his way in and Jordan raised an eyebrow at him and gave him what he knew was an obnoxious grin.

"So, did _Oska_ help you 'go over anymore faxes?'"

Benson narrowed his eyes.  "Jay."

"What?  Okay, I'm sorry.  But, did he apologize for being a dick on Monday?"

"No, he didn't.  He was letting me know the animal mutilation file I'm looking for is at the contracting company's office that's doing the electronic conversion.  He said it'll be here in a couple of weeks."

"Ah.  Do you think it will really help?"

Benson's whole body sagged a little.  "Honestly?  No.  But we're flapping in the breeze here.  This asshole has our pants around our ankles and I don't want to just bend over without a fight."

"Thank you for the vivid mental picture."

"You're welcome.   Where were you going?"

"Nell's."

"Ann wants loaded cheese fries?"

"Yep."

"Cool.  Get me a chicken sandwich and some fried pickle chips."

"Really?  Haven't seen you up jogging in the mornings lately."

"Bite me, Jordan.  And if it takes you longer than twenty minutes to get back, we'll all know you were 'looking over some faxes' with Allegria."

Jordan laughed and discreetly flicked him off as he walked out of the bullpen.

 

**Thursday, October 24, 2013**

 

Benson flipped through the stack of photos again.  They depicted two cats and a squirrel dissected in such a precise manner that Benson wondered at the term "mutilation" being used to describe them.  In fact, it was the clinical, scientific manner of the act that had gotten the offender off with nothing more than a warning.  The court deemed that there was nothing malicious about the act, just a healthy scientific curiosity.  Benson definitely disagreed with that.  It was not normal for a fourteen year old to surgically dissect their neighbor's cat for any reason.

He wished he could have the kid's name.  Then there'd be only one of Gus's fine citizens whose privacy he wanted to invade.  As it was he was sorely tempted to run a search in the police records for all thirty-five to thirty-six years old males.  And if he thought he could do it without word of it getting back to Gus, he would have done it by now.  It was a terrible violation and would break his oath of rigorous obedience to the Constitution, but they were at the end of their rope.

Fortunately, there hadn't been another murder nor were there any missing person reports filed.  Everyone in town seemed to be accounted for, but Benson wouldn't put it past the killer to select a victim from the neighboring towns.  And that killer was still just as big a mystery as ever.  The trace evidence from the Smith and Vanderpool scenes had yielded nothing.  The Thompson scene revealed some fibers made of cheap, low quality cotton which didn't match any of Thompson's clothing, but those fibers were found in just about every kind of garment made for every Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Target and other affordable retailers.  There was also some dirt that matched the soil around Lake Winnipesaukee (no, don't ask him to spell or pronounce that), but Thompson's house was _on_ the lake.  The note cards with the angel names on them were index cards that could be bought in any store that sold office supplies and the ink was from a mass produced Sharpie marker.  They could hardly ask the local stores for records indicating those people who had bought those items.  People didn't understand why they couldn't stop terrorists like the Boston Marathon Bombers, but they couldn't arrest someone or even investigate them for simply buying a pressure cooker and ball bearings.  What the hell were they supposed to do about people buying index cards and markers?

At least the tension and commotion from two weeks ago had eased some.  After the surge of media and reporters had been given some scraps, they had analyzed it on twenty-four hour news programs to ridiculous conclusions.  However, after several days with no information, no new body, and some political scandal in Washington, the story had been all but dropped.  He didn't know if the short American attention span was a good thing or a bad thing.

Then tension in the office had also relaxed as Aaron called less often, James visited for progress reports less often, and Benson and Oska crossed paths less often.  So there'd been a moment a week back when Oska and Benson had somehow found themselves alone in the FBI office.  And somehow the door had gotten shut.  And somehow Oska had wound up with his back against the door with Benson attempting to give him a tonsillectomy with his tongue.  They'd been interrupted by a loud commotion out in the bullpen as the Squirrel Licker was brought in shouting about a striped bass plotting an assassination on the President.  No one had caught them, but they'd suddenly realized how stupid they were being by getting too carried away in places where it would be very easy to get caught.

They'd taken great pains to make sure they were never anywhere alone together since then.  And it had helped keep them out of trouble and certainly it had made their tenuous relationship become less antagonistic though they still sniped at each other on occasion.  Oska really did have a snarky sense of humor and genuinely seemed to enjoy watching people squirm.  And that was fine.   And they were good.  Really.  Of course, three days ago Benson had woken up for the first time in nearly twenty years with a mess in his underwear.  But he could blame that on his eight month dry spell more than any fixation on Oska.  Well, when he could get himself to believe that anyway.

Benson checked his watch.  It was nearly ten o'clock and he hadn't eaten dinner.  Fortunately Nell's stayed open until two in the morning.  Benson looked at his watch again to check the date and felt a cold, squirming worm of unease roll in his stomach.  There had been about a week between Smith and Thompson.  Two weeks between Thompson and Vanderpool.  Now it had been over three weeks with no new body. And that was a good thing; Benson didn't want another person to die so he could have more evidence—but this was starting to feel like DC all over again.  They'd been so certain there would be a fourth kill, and then he'd disappeared for eight years.  Benson would go insane if he lost him again.

"Hey," Jordan said as he popped his head into the office and rapped on the frame.

Benson was too tired to even be startled.  He just turned to face the younger agent.  His hair was getting long.  It really was longer than regulations allowed for, but he looked cute with the floppy bang thing going on.

"Where you been?" Benson mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Talking with Nic."

"Given up on Allegria?"

"What?  It's not like that at all."

"Jordan, the two of you flirt like it's a competition."

Jordan laughed.  "I think it is.  Nic and I just have fun trying to one up each other."

"Hmm."

"You awake?"

"Yeah.  I'm just tired.  But I'm not tired for sleep.  Just—I need a break."

"But you feel guilty for thinking that let alone actually taking one."

Benson wouldn't meet his eyes.  "I just feel like I'm missing something.  And if I stop looking—it'll slip through the cracks and be lost."

"Hey, not 'I,' 'we' okay?  We are in this together.  You, me, Ann, Russ, even Gus and James.  Hell the whole Elton PD.  We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," Benson didn't sound convinced.

"Come on.  Close up.  We're getting dinner at Nell's and then going to Home sweet Motor Lodge."

Benson looked at Jordan for a moment, and then slapped his already hibernating laptop closed.  "Yeah.  I can get on board with that plan."

They drove the Accent to Nell's since they wouldn't be returning to the station.  When they got out Jordan was still giving Benson hell for running over the curb on the way out of the police station parking lot.

"Run along," Benson waved him off as he bent over to inspect the bottom of the car.  "Put our name on the wait list," he said wryly.

They had been to Nell's at every possible time of day and discovered the busiest time was eight a.m.—and even then only half the tables were full.  There might be a cop or two picking up coffee for the start of their shift, but they'd probably be the only ones eating this late at night.  He just wanted Jordan gone in case he discovered he had actually screwed up the stupid car.  It was hard to see much in the dim light from street lamps but Benson didn't think he'd done any damage cosmetic or otherwise.  He stood up and walked toward the diner entrance.  He saw Jordan talking to Allegria who had evidently just come off her shift and was on her way home.  He heard them laugh and almost gagged at the sweet smile they shared.

As he stepped up onto the sidewalk he heard Allegria say, "So, since you’re here, I guess that means you can give me a ride back to my place.”

Allegria smiled brightly and Jordan returned the gesture until he saw Benson nearing the door.

“Oh, no, I can’t,” Jordan said.

Allegria’s smile wavered and she flushed with a little embarrassment.  “Oh, of course not.  I mean, I wasn’t trying to imply—”

“No, it’s not—” Jordan talked over her, just as flustered.

“It’s my fault,” Benson said as he shut them both up.  “He thinks he can’t because he’s technically my ride.  But, I can find my own way back.  This isn’t a big town.  Jordan, don’t keep a lady waiting.”

“But,” they both started to protest but had to stop and move out of the way of the diner door opening.  Oska took a step outside and stopped upon seeing the small gathering.  He raised an eyebrow as he shifted a white paper bag to one hand, probably to free up his gun hand.

“Is there a problem?”

“No,” Allegria said.  “Not at all.  Um, Oska, can you give me a ride home?”

Benson sucked on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Jordan’s dismayed expression.

“Yeah, of course, Al,” Oska replied.

“Or,” Benson said, “Officer Mercer can give me a ride back to the motel and Jordan can drop you off at your place.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jordan asked.

Benson widened his eyes at Jordan and did his best to telepathically tell him to shut up.  Fortunately Oska seemed to take the comment to refer to their still somewhat strained rapport at the station.

“Oh, we’ll be fine.  It’s a short enough trip that I’m sure we’ll be able to refrain from saying something stupid to each other.”

“Might be best if we don’t talk at all then,” Benson mused.

Oska flicked his eyes to him, but didn’t comment.

“Are you sure?” Allegria asked.  “The motel is the opposite direction of where you live.”

“Al,” Oska sighed.  “This whole awkward conversation is only going to get more awkward if you don’t just take your agent and go.  We all know what’s going on.  Don’t make us say it out loud.”

Allegria went scarlet.  “Oska!”  She grabbed Jordan’s hand and stomped away toward the Accent with him in tow.  Benson slapped the key of the car into Jordan's palm and grinned as he watched the sight of a 6’4” man get manhandled by a 5’3” woman.  The sex should be interesting.  He turned back to face Oska and saw the man scowling as he looked after them.

“Jordan’s a good guy, right?” Oska asked.

Benson shrugged.  “Good enough.”

Oska turned the scowl on him, and then realized Benson was teasing him.  His did a quick roll of his eyes and started walking toward his patrol car.

“Let’s go, Remick.”

“Ah, wait, actually, I need to get some dinner first.  That’s why we were here.”

Oska stopped and glanced at Nell’s Diner.  Then he looked at Benson with what looked like actual concern on his face.

“Do you guys eat  _all_  your meals here?”

“A solid eighty percent, I’d say.”

“Yeah—you know, the food is good, but if you’ve eaten here every meal for the last two months—it’s only a matter of time before you have a cardiac event.”

Benson let out a small laugh.  “So, what are you suggesting?  I drive to the mall and get a salad at Chop't?”

“Well, actually, that’s a better idea than the one I was going to suggest.”

Benson ran a tongue over an incisor.  “And what exactly were you going to suggest?” he asked dryly.

Oska suddenly found the bag in his hand interesting.  “I was going to suggest that I could cook for you, but—” he trailed off and raised his eyes to look at Benson.

“But—?”

“But that would be a bad idea.”

Benson nodded and licked his lips.  “A terrible idea.”

Benson could see Oska’s eyes move as they flicked over his body and then back to his face.  Oska ran his teeth over his bottom lip, and then swallowed.

“Oh, fuck it.  Come on.”

Oska began to walk toward his car and Benson followed after him, watching his backside more closely than he needed to.  When he got into the passenger side of the K9 patrol car, he found Oska placing the white paper bag on the middle console and giving the strict command of “Leave it” to Bunny who was lying in the backseat and eyeing the bag with, well, dogged concentration.  Oska started the car and they both took Benson’s earlier advice and didn’t speak on the drive out to Oska’s home.  No sense in ruining the chance for mutual gratification by potentially ticking each other off.

Oska lived just outside the Elton city limits in a well-kept neighborhood with large houses, landscaped lawns, and honest to god white picket fences.  Oska’s house was the largest one at the end of a cul-de-sac with a frickin’ fountain in the front yard that was lit up and spouting away.  Benson took in the—shit,  _mansion_ —and then looked at Oska.

“What—”

“Shut up.”

Benson grinned as he got out, wondering if he had found himself a sugar daddy.  He walked around to Oska’s side of the car and watched him open the door for Bunny who bounded out with quivering energy, but still sat down and waited for orders.

“So, how much time do we have until your parents get home, Oz?”

“Shut—ka, Benson.  My name is Os- _ka_.  Here, hold this.”

He handed Benson the white paper bag and then bent over to unclip Bunny’s badge from around her neck.  She shuffled her feet and let out a small whine, but remained sitting.  Oska gave Benson a malicious smile.

“Bunny.  Off duty.”

Bunny barked and jumped on Benson.  If the car hadn’t been behind him, he would have been on the ground.  He let out an undignified squeak when the dog initially pounced, legitimately worried she was going for his throat, but she was alternating between licking his face and sniffing the white bag.

“What the fuck is in here?”

“Some raw meat scraps Nell had left over.  Bunny’s a good girl and deserves a treat every now and then, don’t you?”

He baby voiced the dog, which only excited her more, which made her try to climb Benson like a tree.  He sputtered around her tongue and tried to get the white bag open.

“You suck, Oska!”

Oska just laughed and headed for his front door.  “Be sure she does her business before you come in.  Use the command ‘potty time.’”

“Potty time?” Benson called out, finally getting a piece of meat into the dog’s mouth.  Upon hearing the command, Bunny immediately dashed away into the yard and squatted.  She really was a well-trained dog.

“Stay out until she does number two.  Thanks,  _Ben_!”

Benson made a disgusted face at Oska’s retreating back, but was still prepared when Bunny came back for bit of meat.  He fed the dog and scratched her behind the ears.  It took three passes of checking his hands with nose and tongue to believe the meat was really gone, and then she padded out into the yard to sniff around.  Benson waited for what he felt like must be long enough to mean the dog didn’t really need to go, and then finally she performed that awkward walking squat dogs do when working out their business.  Then she bounded back across the yard and headed for the front door completely bypassing Benson.

Benson grumbled and walked up the rest of the driveway.  He was  _not_  picking that up.

Inside the house several lights were on, and from the back he could faintly hear the sound of running water and a knife hitting a cutting board.  Bunny had already disappeared, so Benson shut the door behind him and took the time to examine the house Oska lived in.  He was a little taken aback by the large foyer and the double grand staircase that swept gracefully up from both sides to a landing at the second level that turned into a hall disappearing to either side.  It took him a moment to pull his eyes away from the black and white marble foyer, and when he did the rest of the house was just as startling.  To say it didn’t fit the police officer he vaguely knew was an understatement.

To the left was the living room and dining room, done in pastels so pastel it made Benson’s teeth ache.  The furniture looked like real antiques being large heavy pieces made of dark colored wood, which clashed pretty terribly with the pink, baby blue, and yellow walls, curtains, and generally tacky décor.  To the right was a study that led into an observatory.  Its color palette consisted of burgundy, hunter green, and brown.  The furniture on this side matched a little better, but was clearly cheap IKEA home builds and there were at least three different species’ heads stuffed and mounted on the walls.

Maybe Oska really did live with his parents.

Benson walked across the marble floor and under the arch of the staircase.  He passed through a small dark passageway, and the room immediately opened into a large space with a casual dining area set up on the right, a door to a screened back porch directly in front, and a large, open professional grade kitchen to the left.  Oska was standing at the center island, which was as large as the counter in his kitchen in his apartment, washing, peeling, and then dicing potatoes.  He looked up as Benson entered, dropping off a handful of white cubes into a large pot.

“What took you so long?”

“She wouldn’t go.”

“I told you to use the command.”

“I don’t know.  It just seems wrong to make something poo on command.”

One side of Oska’s mouth curved into an amused smile.  He waved Benson over with the knife, and then handed him the implement.

“I’m going to go change.  Can you finish peeling these last two potatoes and cut them up?”

“Um…yeah.  Probably.”

“Probably?  Please tell me a self-sufficient man in his thirties knows how to cut a potato.”

Benson made a face and mumbled high pitched noises in mock imitation of him.

“Don’t cut off a finger.  That’s very sharp.  And try to make the pieces all the same size.  And don’t leave too much peel on.”

“Why don’t you just do it, then?” Benson groused.

Oska didn’t answer as he left the kitchen by another stairway tucked into the back wall.  It was a servant’s staircase.  What the hell kind of house did Oska live in?  Benson concentrated hard on getting the skin off in as thin a layer as possible, and then dicing the tuber into cubes that looked about the same size as the ones in the pot.  He was so meticulous he had only just finished washing the knife in the sink when Oska returned.  Benson’s eyes caught on him and tracked him as he crossed the floor barefooted.  The jeans were faded and extremely well worn in all the right places and the heather grey T-shirt fit him like a glove.  Benson just let himself stare.  He wasn’t allowed to drool at work, but he certainly could here.

Oska walked right up to him and Benson turned enough that their arms just barely brushed, sending a shiver through his whole body.

“Take a load off, Agent.  Stay a while.”

Oska turned to pick up the pot of potatoes and walked away to set them on the stove.  As he was adjusting the gas burner to a high heat to get the water boiling, Benson realized he was still wearing his full suit.  He decided to take Oska’s advice and shrugged out of the coat as he walked over toward the table and chairs on the other side of the room.  He folded and neatly laid the jacket on the back of one of the chairs and tilted his head as he looked at the table.  It was a vibrant, natural red brown wood made of several planks slatted together to form a flawless unbroken surface.  Benson was certain it was handmade; he’d unfortunately become overly acquainted with carpentry techniques about eight years back.  He could tell the chairs were part of the same handcrafted set.  He unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up to just below his elbows.  This dining set would probably easily sell for thousands of dollars.  He reached for his tie to loosen it, debating whether or not to take it off, and just settled for unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and leaving it on.

“Hey, Oska?”

“Yeah?”

“You live alone?  There aren’t any kids here, right?”

“No, of course not,” came the reply a little sharply.  “Why?”

Benson looked at him and tried not to smile at his miffed expression.  He pulled the gun and holster from his belt and displayed it to Oska before setting it down lightly on the table.

“Oh, right,” Oska mumbled, looking a little embarrassed.

Ordinarily Benson would never just leave a gun lying about anywhere, but the only two people in the house were trained in firearms, so he took the risk.  Benson ran a hand along the top of the table; it was perfectly smooth—he could barely feel where the planks began and ended.

“Hey, where did you get this table set?  This is amazing craftsmanship.”

Oska approached wiping his hands on a towel, his cheeks a little flushed.

“You like it?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I’m not an expert or anything, but even I can tell this is pretty flawless.”

“Oh, not flawless.  See that crooked plank right smack in the middle?”

Benson searched for an imperfection.  “No,” he said.

“Ah, well, I guess you see your own flaws easier than other people do.”

Benson turned to face him, astonished.  “ _You_ made this?”

Oska shrugged a shoulder.  “I dabbled in carpentry.  Just as a hobby.  This probably is the best thing I’ve ever made.”  He laughed.  “Which, of course, isn’t saying much.”

“It’s saying a lot,” Benson murmured and ran his hand over the smooth top again.

Oska tried to hide his blush by turning to scold Bunny who was sniffing her nose along the top of a counter.  The dog ignored him and continued her exploration.

“Hey, uh, this isn’t white pine, is it?” Benson asked.

Oska cocked his head as he looked at him.  “Did you really just ask me if a dark red wood is made out of  _white_  pine?”  He chucked Benson under the chin.  “At least you have your looks.”

Benson scoffed in indignation as Oska turned and walked back into the kitchen.

“I just meant it could be stained!  I was wondering if wood can be disguised like that.”

Oska shook his head.  “White pine could never be stained to that color.  There is a bit of sealant on it, which altered the color a little, but that’s the natural color of cherry wood.”

“It’s nice.”

“Unh-hunh.  Now forget about the table and tell me how you like your steak cooked.”

“We’re having steak?” Benson asked as he walked toward Oska.  “How exactly is steak and mashed potatoes a healthier alternative to Nell’s?”

“It’s not, dumbass,” Oska replied with a smug smile as he doctored the steaks.

Benson took the admission of his ruse as an invitation.  He placed the back of his hand at Oska’s neck and lightly ran two knuckles down his spine.  The man shivered and flexed his neck, like he was trying to get away from the sensation.  Benson wasn’t about to let that happen.  He moved to stand directly behind him, running his hands down the sides of Oska’s soft T-shirt, before grasping his hips firmly.  He stepped closer again and pulled Oska back forcing them to come in full contact from where Benson’s lips pressed into Oska’s hair right down to where their ankles bumped awkwardly with the proximity.  Oska continued his work with seasoning the steaks, but Benson could see his hands trembling when he flipped one over to do the other side.

Benson smiled and inhaled, enjoying the spicy scent of Oska’s shampoo mixed in faintly with his natural essence.  This wasn’t exactly the standard operating procedure for a TDY fling, but he couldn’t help it.  The guy smelled good.   He tilted his head a little to press his lips to the nape of his neck and ran his hands up, this time over Oska’s hard abdomen and flat stomach.  He reached his chest and used his wide hands to cover his pectoral muscles and squeeze gently.  Oska let out a soft sound and shifted against him, drawing attention to Benson’s rapidly growing erection as the soft denim offered little barrier to the cleft of his ass.  Benson was fairly certain he wasn’t wearing underwear.

To check his theory he moved his hands down again and slid them to the sides of Oska’s erection, which must be uncomfortably jammed against the cabinets.  Benson ran his thumbs up and down the length, absolutely positive that there was nothing between them except a thin layer of worn out cotton.

Oska grunted and slapped his hands to the counter to give him the leverage he needed to grind back against Benson.  Benson obliged him and let their hips roll together for several long moments, encouraging Oska to spread his legs a little wider with a gentle nudge to his thigh with his knee.  He managed to press in a little further to Oska’s ass and the man dropped his head back onto Benson’s shoulder with a softly spoken obscenity.  Benson moved his hands from Oska’s groin and reached up to grab his pectorals again, thumbing rapidly and repeatedly over his nipples.  Oska tried to arch away from the sudden and excruciating stimulation, but found himself trapped by the counter and Benson’s body.  This made him struggle more and groan out Benson’s name.

Benson gasped softly, his hot breath coursing down Oska’s neck.  Hearing Oska say his name like that…it had sent a spike of pleasure and lust straight to his dick.  His cock continued to feel throbbing aftershocks with each desperate inhalation from the man who was causing it all.  He needed to hear more.

He dropped slowly to his knees, placing kisses along Oska’s clothed back, his hands trailing down until they found hips again.  He turned Oska around and then pressed him back against the counter, holding him still.  Benson would have felt ridiculous rubbing the side of his face against Oska’s dick, but it felt too good to be this close to having that hot, salty weight on his tongue again.  God he hadn’t realized how much he missed sucking cock until Oska had reminded him.

“B-Benson,” Oska said shakily, “we have to finish making dinner.”

Benson popped the button on his jeans and closed his teeth gently around the thick bulge he could feel twitching through the denim.  Oska bit off a moan and one hand found Benson’s shoulder and the other grabbed onto his hair for dear life.

“The—the steaks—”

“We have time,” Benson mumbled, drunk on the dark, heady scent he was breathing in greedily as he nuzzled the apex of Oska’s thighs.  His hands slid around to grab his ass, pulling the man closer, and he opened his mouth again to catch the warm, soft weight of Oska’s balls through his jeans.

Oska’s grip on his shoulder and hair increased to the point of pain.

“Bensonnn…nm.”

Benson loved how he kept biting off the noises he was making.  It just challenged him to work him over so hard he wouldn’t be able to censor himself.  Benson took the tab of the zipper in his teeth and started to pull it down.  He squeezed Oska’s ass again and the man cut off another groan and jerked so violently he banged the cabinets with a thigh creating a loud echoing thump.

Two seconds later Benson heard a threatening growl right beside his ear.  He froze and turned his head, letting go of the zipper tab, and saw Bunny about six inches from his face, teeth bared, muzzle wrinkled in anger, and a continuous, unhappy growl rolling out of her throat.

“Bun-Bunny, down,” Oska breathed distractedly.

One of Bunny’s ears flicked toward his voice, but she didn’t move from her crouched and ready to attack and kill position.

“Bunny,” Oska said sharply, coming back to himself fully.  “Down.”

Bunny stopped growling and glanced up once before she sat down, glaring at Benson.

“Go away,” Oska said, waving a hand at her.  “Back up.”

The dog kept her eyes trained on Benson, but shuffled back a few steps before sitting down again.

“Stand up, Benson.”

Benson immediately moved to stand, but Oska put pressure on his shoulder.

“Slowly, Benson,” Oska said and snapped his fingers to draw Bunny’s attention to him and away from Benson.  However, when Benson started moving, slowly, her eyes were back on him.  Once he got to his feet he was pressed pretty firmly to Oska’s side, but he didn’t try to move away while the dog seemed so edgy.

“Bunny, up,” Oska gave the command in a friendly voice.  She got to her feet at once.  “Lay down.”  She flopped to the floor immediately, ears looking much more perky and friendly.  Oska pointed a finger gun at her.  “Bang!” he said softly.  Bunny flopped to her side and put her paws in the air.  She didn’t look very dead though as her tail was wagging and her eyes were carefully watching Oska.

“Good girl!  Up!”

Bunny jumped to her feet with a bark, tail wagging, and tongue hanging out happily.

“Benson, make a loose fist and hold it out.”

Benson was mildly amused as he obeyed Oska’s command as readily as Bunny.

“C’mere, Bunny,” Oska called the dog over and scratched behind her ears.  “Good girl.  Now, give him a sniff.”  Oska guided Bunny’s head so that she could sniff Benson’s hand and scratched her head and praised her as she did so.

“Now, we like Benson, don’t we?  Well, at least we like his body.”

“Hey.”

Oska smirked at him and then clapped his hands and shooed the dog off.  She wandered to the edge of the kitchen and lay down to continue to watch them.  Benson finally began to breathe normally again.

“Well, damn.  I think that actually completely killed my boner,” Benson said as he glanced down at his crotch and saw that his penis had indeed gone into hiding.

Oska, the little shit, actually laughed.  “Yeah, she does have that effect.”

“I was going to suggest we pick up where we left off, but I don’t think I like having an audience.”

“It’s better that we don’t anyway.”

Benson at last took his eyes completely off the dog to look at Oska.  Oska just smiled and patted his cheek.

“Not permanently.  I just meant until after dinner.  I fully intend on putting those pretty cock-sucking lips to the use God intended.”

Benson frowned at him.  He’d been told he had cock-sucking lips all his life and he’d never really appreciated it.  And besides, who the hell was Oska to talk?  His eyes and thoughts were caught on those lips now, and before Oska could turn away to do whatever he thought he needed to do that wasn’t kissing him, Benson put a hand to the back of his neck and brought their lips together.  Oska opened up easily, lazily massaging Benson’s tongue as it swept eagerly into his mouth over and over again.  Benson tilted his head, sealing their lips and sucked Oska’s tongue into his mouth.  His arms snaked around the man pulling him close and sending them slightly off balance.  Oska put out a hand behind himself to steady them and knocked the lid of a pot across the counter.  It clattered loudly and Bunny was back on her feet with a bark.

Benson pulled away muttering, “For fuck’s sake.”

Oska chuckled and reprimanded the dog again.  He looked at Benson and wiped the spit-shiny corner of his mouth with a thumb before sucking the pad clean.  Benson gritted his teeth.  His erection was back and the dog wasn’t going to make it go away this time.

“In the bottom crisper drawer of the refrigerator is some broccoli.  Will you get that for me please, Agent?”

Of course, who needed an overprotective dog to harsh his boner when Oska could do it quite handily with cooking duty assignments?

“Fine,” Benson tried not to sigh dramatically.  “But we’re shutting that dog up somewhere, later.”

Oska smiled.  “Don’t worry.  She won’t stop you or me from getting what we want out of this evening.”

Benson disguised his aroused deep breath by walking away toward the refrigerator.  He was a little surprised to find mixed with the arousal was…disappointment?  That they were on the same page about wanting sex tonight was fantastic, but…Oska made it sound so matter of fact and perfunctory.  Like they were just going to—service each other and be on their way.  And that’s all this was, right?  Benson pulled the bag of broccoli florets out of the crisper drawer.  Was he expecting anything more?  No, of course not.  Oska was, technically, his TDY booty call.  Or, perhaps he was Oska’s.  Either way it was just a little reciprocal stress relief that happened to end with mind numbing orgasms.  No big deal.

Except…why was it that even with the groping and grinding and delicious moaning sounds he’d pulled out of Oska, what had gotten him the most worked up had been the kiss?  Oska was a good kisser.  It just felt good.  But how could that feel better than rubbing his cock against his firm—

“Benson?”

“Yeah?”  Benson whipped around to look at Oska; he was poking at the potatoes in the now boiling pot with a fork.

“Can you rinse those off and then put them in the steamer?  It’s in that cabinet,” he indicated which one with a jab of his fork.

Benson tried to speak, failed, swallowed, and tried again.  “Sure.”

They moved around each other comfortably while they prepared dinner, conversation mostly restricted to ingredients and preparation.  There'd been a playful battle over the cooking of the steaks.  Oska kept trying to fend off Benson's attempt to pull his off the stovetop grill before Oska overcooked the thing, and Benson flat out told Oska he'd never speak to him again if he actually ate his steak well done.  In the end Benson had to sigh in dismay at his medium cooked steak while Oska pretended to gag at the bloody mess that was his medium well cooked steak.  The seasoning was good enough that neither really could complain about the flavor and the Cabernet Oska had produced from the wine cellar (yes, the literal _wine cellar_ downstairs) complimented it perfectly.  The mashed potatoes were decadent with butter and sour cream and the broccoli was still crisp.  He was used to his mother's version of cooking vegetables which was to steam them to a pile of mush.  He did have to admit Oska was a fantastic cook and he wouldn't mind sharing another meal with him.  Except...the conversation definitely stalled almost immediately.

They enjoyed their meal in a half-awkward silence until Benson couldn't stand it anymore.  He took a large gulp of some dry, fruity liquid courage and looked at Oska.

"So, we _can_ talk, right?"

Oska raised his eyebrows as he chewed slowly.  "Yes?"

"Oh."

Benson speared a piece of broccoli and crunched into it.  _Smooth_ , he thought sarcastically.

"What would you like to talk about?" Oska asked before taking a sip of his wine.

_How blue your eyes are._

Benson actually recoiled at his own stupid thought.

"I don't know.  Honestly, I tend to know a little bit more about the people I almost have oral sex with in their kitchen."

Oska's mouth quirked at one corner and he cut a piece of steak.  He placed his knife down on the edge of his plate, switched the fork to his other hand, and raised the piece of steak to his mouth.

"Well, I'm a Leo.  I'm a long distance runner.  I hate the Red Sox.  And I like the green of your eyes."

He ate the bite on his fork and kept a completely neutral face as he looked at Benson across the table.  Benson blushed and pushed his mashed potatoes around his plate.  That was so unfair.  How could he say such a stupid, cheesy line about his eyes with such a bland expression?

"Do we need to get more personal than that?" Oska asked.

Benson looked up, ignoring the small, sharp stab he'd felt in his chest.  "I guess we don't need to.  What do you consider too personal?  Can I ask about work?"

Oska's brows creased in what could have been a little anger or possibly mild annoyance.

"You think the case is good dinner conversation?"

"No, not the case.  I meant _your_ job.  How did you get into the canine unit?  Or is that too personal?" he asked a little cheekily.

Oska inhaled and put down his utensil.  "My father—stepfather— was chief before Gus.  He never pressured me into joining the force, but it just seemed like the best thing for me."

"But you went to Dartmouth, right?"

Oska tilted his head.  "How do you know that?  Did you run me through one of your FBI databases?"

"No.  Russ told me.  It came up for some reason."

"Unh-huh."  He eyed Benson suspiciously, but continued.  "Yeah, I went to Dartmouth and majored in political philosophy.  And I realized I liked the theory very much, but the practical application is a nightmare.  I had no real aspiration to become a politician and I knew I didn't want to teach.  Plus, my—my girlfriend at the time wanted to move back home to Elton.  I knew I could get a job since I had an in with the police chief.  I volunteered to join the canine unit and stayed with it until I _became_ the canine unit.  We don't have a lot need for search dogs here, it's true, so one or two officers is usually enough to suffice.  I did take the detective's exam, and passed, but I didn't want to give up working with police dogs.  I like being able to help when people need it.  After 9/11, I went to New Orleans after Katrina, and I spent three months in Haiti after the earthquake."

Oska inhaled a breath to speak again, but then seemed to become self-conscious and started eating instead.  Benson stared at the man, more than impressed.  Not only had Oska spoken more than he probably had in the totality of their acquaintanceship, but it turned out he was an amazing human being.  And that was so bad.  So very, very bad.  Oska wanted to keep this impersonal.  Being in awe of him would not help Benson separate his feelings from the inevitable turn this night was going to take.  Maybe if he already liked him this much, he shouldn't sleep with him.

Benson laughed to himself.  Fuck that.

"What?" Oska asked with a small smile.

"What?" Benson asked.

"You just laughed."

"Oh.  Oh, uh.  Nothing.  You just kind of made me realize that my own grand 'serve the people' mentality isn't quite so noble.  I get paid."

Oska shrugged.  "So do I."

"Not for volunteering to go on humanitarian missions."

"No, but...my guess is you aren't going to be getting overtime for working twelve to fourteen hour days seven days a week while you're here, are you?"

Benson scoffed.  "With the budget cuts and sequestration?  Fat chance."

Oska grinned.  "Well, we'll see if we can't find you some other perks to make up for it."

Benson laughed at the ridiculous eyebrow wiggle he gave him, but did notice they both ate a little faster.  Benson actually felt a nervous flutter in his stomach when he swallowed the last of his wine.  He'd never been nervous before sex; not even his first time.  But, they were both done eating and now they were just supposed to—what, lunge at each other over the table?

Oska stood up with his dishes and walked to the sink.  Benson took in a calming breath.  That at least was something he could do.  Help clean up.  And his nerves disappeared as Oska actually made them wash all the dishes, put away the left over mashed potatoes, and wipe down the table and counters.  The tasks would have gone faster if Benson had kept his hands to himself, but he found that now that he had the go ahead it was very difficult to pass by Oska and not run his fingers through his hair, or put a hand to his hip and nuzzle behind his ear.  He had his arms wrapped around Oska's waist from behind him and was doing his best not to leave a hickey as he sucked and kissed Oska's neck while the man wiped the last crumbs off the granite counter top and into the sink.

"Alright, already!" Oska cried out in faux-exasperation.  He turned in Benson's grip and they kissed non-stop as they stumbled across the kitchen to the back stairway.  Halfway up, Benson couldn't stop himself from grabbing Oska's ass and pulling him close.  They lost their balance and fell up the stairs.  Benson knelt with one knee between Oska's legs on a stair and Oska used one hand to push an excited Bunny away.

"We're not playing, Bunny!" he said, before moaning and pulling Benson closer to deepen the kiss.  They stayed on the stairs a minute, enjoying the kiss, but when Benson shifted forward and his thigh pressed against Oska's groin, they both groaned and forced themselves to stand up.  They made it to the top of the stairs and only ran into the wall twice before Oska pulled them into a room.  He used his foot to keep Bunny on the other side of the threshold and shut the door in her face.  She immediately began to whine and scratch at the door.

"That going to bother you?" Oska asked as he bit gently on Benson's lower lip.

"Nope."

Oska flicked on the lights and Benson could tell they weren't in the master bedroom, but other than that all he noticed was that the room contained a king size bed.  He kicked off his shoes and barely got his socks off before Oska pulled him onto the bed.  Benson didn't think anyone had ever felt better under him than Oska.  And then Oska rolled them over and he didn't think he'd ever felt anyone over him better than Oska.  Oska's knees fell to either side of Benson's legs and their groins rubbed together just enough to encourage the heated lust throbbing in his lower body.  Oska grasped Benson's face in both hands and sat up just a little to lick and bite at Benson's lips.

"Fuck, you're a good kisser," Oska sighed and dove back in for more.

Benson actually felt himself blush with the compliment.  Mainly because he felt like he was just lying there like a slug letting Oska do all the work.  He ran his hands up under Oska's T-shirt, humming at the feel of his muscles moving powerfully as he rocked back and forth on him.  Benson did his best to contribute to the rhythm by thrusting his hips up to meet Oska's and they both had to stop kissing for a moment as they rutted against each other—too distracted with pleasure to do anything more than pant into each other's mouths.

Oska sat up with an aggrieved whine and stilled his movements just long enough to work the buttons of Benson's dress shirt open.  While he did that, Benson removed his tie and then sat up slightly to help Oska push the garment off his shoulders and down his arms.  It got flung to the left somewhere and Oska's T-shirt quickly chased after it.  Their lips came back together as with spontaneous coordination they reached for the fastener of the other's pants.  The sounds of their gasping breaths and smacking lips filled their ears and only heightened the driving need to get naked immediately.

Oska got there first as his loose jeans slid down his legs easily and he was, now unquestionably, going commando.  Benson reached out a hand to grasp his already fully erect member, but the man sat back on his heels and yanked Benson's pants down his legs.  He pulled up swiftly and Benson's feet went up in the air as the pants were yanked off.  He fell back onto the mattress trying to laugh and not giggle.  He wasn't sure if he was successful.  Then he felt Oska's hands on the waistband of his underwear and he stopped laughing.  They were gone in a flash and he raised his head, and then started laughing again at Oska's saucer sized eyes.

"Jesus Christ you're fucking huge."

Benson didn't blush at that compliment.  He knew he was bigger than average and it wasn't the first time someone had told him so.

"Didn't notice that the first time?" he said cockily.

"Well, I could tell it was more than a handful but...seeing it is something else altogether."

Benson laughed again and put a hand to the back of Oska's neck to drag him forward into a kiss.  And to break his trance since his eyes hadn't left the sight of Benson's enthusiastic erection.  Oska hummed happily when they kissed again.  He pushed on Benson's shoulders and got him to lie back down, settling on top of him again.  This time when they moved, nothing could keep them from holding back the overwhelmed moans and breathy grunts.  Their cocks slotted next to each other, trapped in the warm friction of their hard torsos.  Their hands roamed through each other's hair and held each other's faces as they kissed.  Benson had the passing thought that if Oska wanted to keep things impersonal...this wasn't the way to do it.

Oska reached a hand down and pushed at the inside of one of Benson's thighs; his legs parted and Oska settled between them, thrusting up so that they rutted against each other from balls to cockheads.  Oska braced himself above Benson, working his hips, and tipped his head back—eyes closed, mouth slack with bliss.  Seeing him so gone on lust made Benson bite his lip to hold back a whimper and he arched his back to grind up into Oska's body.  The movement threw off Oska's rhythm, and that seemed to remind him someone else was in the room.  He stopped moving and sat back on his heels, breathing hard.

"Wait, wait.  Shit.  Sorry.  We keep that up and I'm going to embarrass myself."

"Heck, you've already lasted longer than last time.  So, it's all uphill really."

Oska opened his eyes and shot Benson an annoyed grin.  "You fucker.  Last time doesn't count towards anything!"

"Sure it does."  Benson reached for him.  "C'mere."

"Hang on."

Oska leaned way to the left and had to stretch his whole body to grab the drawer of his nightstand.  He grunted in annoyance as he had to stretch even farther to reach inside it, leaning halfway off the bed.  Benson put one hand behind his head and used the other to give his cock a few firm pulls as he was entertained by Oska's flailing leg as he attempted to not fall off the bed.  With a final grunt he pushed himself back onto the bed and ripped the back off a new box of condoms.  Most of the contents fell onto the bed and then the floor, but Oska did manage to grab a string, ripping one off along the perforated edge.  He dropped it beside Benson's hip and then began to struggle with the protective plastic around the lube cap.  He sat back on his heels and cursed as he picked at it with a nail.

"Should have opened these beforehand."

Benson laughed and reached for the ripped box, already knowing what it would tell him.  He was distracted from reading it when Oska leaned down and captured his lips again, his perfect tongue giving his mouth a good, slow fuck.  Benson groaned and clenched the box in his hand.  He could only imagine what that tongue would feel like fucking in and out of his hole.  Then he wondered if he was going to be the bottom tonight.

The sudden press of a finger with not quite warmed up lube at his entrance told him that he was indeed bottoming tonight.  It had been even longer since he'd done that than the last blow job before Oska.  Not that it really mattered because they actually _couldn't_ do that tonight.

"Oska," Benson said, regretfully pulling his lips away from the pleasurable kiss.  Oska just started to kiss down his jaw line instead.  He raised the condom box and looked at the crumpled cardboard.  He'd never felt so disappointed in his life—not even when Santa Claus hadn't brought him that dirt bike when he was ten.

"Oska, we can't—ah!"

Benson's whole body started as Oska's finger slid completely into him.  His finger was slim enough and he had enough lube on it that it hadn't hurt, but it had been surprising.  Oska started pumping his finger in and out and Benson rolled his hips into the movement.  Why had he ever stopped sleeping with men?  He bottomed so fucking well.

"Oh, fuck yes, Oz."  He raised one knee, opening himself wider, encouraging the second finger that was already starting to push in.  This one stretched with a little pain this time, but Oska kept working his hand and soon it just felt good and so far from being enough.

Benson scraped together what few brain cells he could and said, "Oska, wait, I'm sorry, we can't."

"Why the fuck not?" Oska grumbled, sucking a bruise onto his neck, but below the line of a dress shirt collar.

"I'm allergic to latex."

"So?"

Benson bonked him on the head with the box of condoms.  He sat up with an irritated, disapproving look.

"What?" he asked grumpily.

Benson waved the box in front of his face.  "These are latex condoms.  And as good as it might be at the time, I'm not going to spend the next couple of days with a literal itch I can't scratch if you know what I mean."

"So, do you have something we can use?"

Benson tried to process that sentence, but Oska hadn't removed, or stopped moving, his fingers inside of him.

"No, not on me."

"Jesus, Benson, why did you come over if you weren't expecting sex tonight?"

"I wasn't expecting sex tonight when I left the motel room this morning!  And when you invited me for dinner, I thought I'd be lucky if we exchanged blow jobs."

Oska frowned at him and rubbed his thumb against Benson's rim with every inward thrust of his middle and index fingers.  Benson tried to stop the twitch his body made every time it happened, but it was fucking sensitive down there.

Oska sat up so he could lean over and suck the tip of Benson's dick into his mouth.  He tongued relentlessly at the glans nearly wrenching a premature orgasm out of him.  Benson cried out in alarm as the pleasure built and almost spilled out of him, but it was counterbalanced by the sharp pain of a third finger stretching him wide open.  Benson choked back a shout and gripped the sheets desperately.  The orgasm faded, but the pleasure was still great enough that he forgot about the pain almost as soon as it happened.  Now he was just floating in a sea of ecstasy that was spiraling dizzyingly toward the edge again.  That was some good fucking technique.  Benson pushed back onto Oska's fingers.  God it was going to be so disappointing to not feel a cock in him tonight.

Oska pulled off Benson's dick and gave it a kiss.  "I can pull out," he said.

"What?" Benson said, fighting against delirium.

"I can pull out.  Before I come."

Benson opened his eyes and made a face at Oska.  "I'm not worried about getting pregnant."

"Well, you won't get anything else.  I've only slept with two people in my life.  And with no one in the last four and a half years."

Benson stopped moving his hips and sat up on his elbows.  " _Four and a half years_?"

"Not since my wife and I separated."

"You're _married_?!"

"Divorced."  Oska lowered his head and gave a little lick to Benson's leaking cockhead with each thrust of his hand.  He looked up at Benson from beneath his eyelashes.  "Please, can I?"

Benson knew he was fucked.  He'd already given in, but he was still going to put up a token resistance.

"You're not worried about me?  I'm kind of a slut."  Not entirely true, but in the interest of full disclosure, some people might call him one.

Oska shrugged and put his lips around the engorged head of Benson's penis, sucking once—hard.  Benson's hips bucked off the bed and Oska pulled off, but allowed his fingers to get buried practically past the knuckles in Benson's aching hole.

Benson could barely understand Oska when he said, "The penetrating partner has a much lower risk."

When all those words made sense in the right order, Benson chuckled weakly and murmured, "Asshole."

"Please," Oska pleaded, leaning forward to kiss Benson's lips.  "I _need_ to be in you."

Benson had already capitulated.  He might as well let Oska know.

"Do it," he breathed.

Oska sat up and continued to work his fingers in and out of Benson as he used his other hand to get the lube open and squirted some onto his dick.  He slicked up his shaft and then circled his palm over the head, biting his lips at the sensation.  He moved in between Benson's legs as he spread them wider.  Then he spread his fingers out, stretching Benson's entrance so that the ring of muscle circled the tip of his cock when he pulled his hand away.  He put a hand behind Benson's right knee and pushed the leg up.  Benson raised his hips a little and bit his lip as Oska pushed in.

Benson keened as Oska slid into him.  He had never once in his life had sex without a condom either on the giving or receiving end.  The difference was unfathomable.  Even with the lube he could feel the drag of Oska's skin against his as they connected.  His cock was hot and hard, but the skin itself was so soft and—fuck him—velvety.  It was full on trashy romance novel velvety.  Then the fucker was pulling out.  Benson lifted his head, about to voice some very salty protests, when Oska thrust back into him.  Benson groaned and dropped his head back.  Oh, yeah.  That's how this worked.

Benson went pliant underneath Oska, letting his legs splay open as much as possible as Oska fucked into him.  It felt so unbelievably good and he hadn't even gotten a solid hit on his prostate yet.  A steady stream of nonsense spilled from Benson's lips and he threw his arms above his head, finding and grabbing onto the wooden slats of the headboard as Oska picked up the pace.  Oska leaned down and tried to kiss him but couldn't since his mouth was otherwise occupied trying to breathe around his own grunting moans.  The movement did result in Benson's cock getting rubbed six ways to Sunday in between their bodies.  And then Oska shifted, lifted his hips or something, and suddenly that was all she wrote for Benson.  With the sudden pounding on his prostate and the frenetic friction on his cock, his balls tightened and all the pleasure centered in his groin and then exploded out of him.

Benson was vaguely aware that he'd screamed and that the headboard had creaked loudly and that his hands kind of hurt with how tightly he was gripping it, but all that was submerged under a tidal wave of euphoria that retreated and then crashed back on him again and again.  He cried out when his cock—his whole body—clenched with oversensitivity.

Oska stopped moving and kissed the tears from the corners of Benson's eyes as he gasped for air and carefully unfurled his fingers from the wooden slats.  They were stiff and it hurt to straighten them, but the pain made it easier to come to his senses.  The first thing he thought was that he was amazed he'd come untouched.  Well, not _untouched_ , but it had been the first time that had happened without something _around_ it.

Oska had moved his hands to brace himself on the mattress and straightened his arms so that he was high enough that he wasn't touching Benson's tender penis anymore, but his hips were rocking gently into him.  He was still very hard if Benson's ass had anything to say about it.

"Go on, Oz," Benson panted.

He shook his head.  "Can't.  Gotta let go of me."

"Hunh?"

Benson, now more aware of his body, realized that the leg Oska had been holding up was now wrapped around Oska's back, heel actually pressing between his ass cheeks.

"Let go so I can pull out."

Benson hesitated.

"Seriously, Benson," Oska's movements quickened.  "I can't—"

"No," Benson said, and fortunately Oska knew what he meant by that.

He almost sobbed with joy and started drilling Benson's ass.  Benson's sore fingers curled around the headboard again.  He couldn't believe it could still feel this good even after coming.

"Oh, shit—fuck, Oska—so good, so good.  Your cock feels so fucking good in me.  Come on, come onnnn..." Benson was not one to talk in bed and he would have been embarrassed by the dirty encouragement he was letting tumble out of his mouth, but he felt too damn good to care.  Oska's thrusts intensified and Benson pulled at the headboard as a new wave of pleasure rolled through him and his dick actually tried to fill again.  The wood squeaked violently and Oska swiftly moved a hand from the mattress to brace against Benson's forearm.

"Don't break my bed, babe," he ground out distractedly.

Benson felt a thrill shoot through his body at the use of the endearment.  Which was stupid because Benson was _not_ a sap.  Oska plunged into his body one final time and froze.  His mouth dropped open in a silent cry, his thighs trembled, and Benson could feel his member pulse and shudder inside him as a warmth he'd never felt before flooded his body.  Then Benson realized that was Oska's spend being rubbed into his flesh as Oska moved his hips in little figure eights as he worked through his orgasm.  The thought should have grossed him out; instead it made him reach a hand up to Oska's face and pull him down into a kiss.  Their tongues tangled lazily as finally, their hips slowed and ceased moving.  Oska started to pull out, but Benson tightened the leg that was wrapped around him.

"Not yet," he said quietly so maybe Oska wouldn't hear him.

He did hear, however, if his pleased groan and sudden kiss were anything to go by.  Oska kissed his lips several times and then his cheek.  Benson turned his head letting Oska kiss a trail to his ear.

"I could spend the rest of my life buried in you," he murmured hotly.

Benson let out a small sound and put his hand to the back of Oska's head.  And those words should not have been a turn on.  Because that hadn't been dirty talk so much as sweet talk—and weren't they supposed to be keeping this thing impersonal?  Well, he supposed letting Oska come inside him had blown that plan to hell, but they shouldn't do anything more than what they were ready for tonight.  So, even though he didn't want to, he pushed gently at Oska's shoulder and joked, "Well, that's a change in attitude from the first time we did this."

"Shut-up," Oska responded, but after only a couple more moments of breathing together, he sat up and slapped Benson's thigh lightly.

Benson gingerly unhooked his leg, feeling the tight muscles protest the movement.  Oska pulled out carefully and Benson hated it.  Oska sat back and leaned on his elbows, still between Benson's legs.  Benson pushed himself up on his elbows too and looked at the other man.  Oska put a foot behind Benson's knee and lifted his leg up and to the side, exposing him enough that Benson could feel Oska's come dribble out of his ass.  He suspected that was exactly why Oska had done it and found that equally demeaning and arousing.

"Like the view?" Benson asked dryly.

Oska hummed and lowered Benson's leg.  Then he let his head fall back and said, "God, I needed that."  Then he lifted his head and looked Benson straight in the eyes.  "I _wanted_ that."

Benson, to his chagrined embarrassment and utter horror, blushed.

Oska smiled at him and Benson had to look away.  Oska pushed off the bed and crawled over Benson to kiss his flushed cheek.

"Come on, let's shower.  As much as I would love to do this all night, we both have to work tomorrow and I need to get you back to your motel."

Benson grunted.  "It's not that late—" he looked at the watch that was still on his wrist.  "Oh."  It was almost one in the morning.  He was due at the office in six hours.  "Fuck."

Oska kissed his cheek again and slid off the bed.  He let out a yelp as he slipped on the condom packages on the floor.  He fell against the bed and started laughing.  It was such a natural, happy sound that Benson immediately joined in.  They continued to laugh as they struggled out of bed and as they made their way to the bathroom.  By the time Oska got the shower going they had settled into chuckles and the occasional giggle.

Benson stopped laughing, but he was still smiling broadly as he watched Oska check the temperature of the water.  It was a ridiculously fancy shower with multiple water spouts set on three walls at varying heights.  Oska turned back to him to say something, but Benson cupped his face with a hand.  He smoothed his thumb along Oska's cheekbone and drew him close.  Oska paused just before kissing him, their lips almost touching, breath being shared.

"We can't," Oska said weakly.  "Please, Benson, you know we can't let this..." he trailed off and Benson nodded, nuzzling their noses together.

"I know," he replied, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Just like earlier, Benson knew he was fucked.  This was the sweetest kiss of his life and he knew nothing would ever live up to it.  Not unless it was another kiss from this man.

Oska pulled back and shook his head.  "You idiot."

He stepped into the shower, pulling Benson with him.  Their arms went around each other, lips seeking each other like a cold-blooded animal craving the sun.  The water fell on them like a warm summer rain.

Benson ran his hands over and over Oska's body, mapping it, memorizing it.  Oska in turn skimmed his nails up and down Benson's back, making him shiver and yearn for more contact.  He surged forward, pressing Oska into the wall of the shower, got a thigh between his legs, and began rubbing against his groin.  Oska clutched at his shoulders and jerked his head away to gasp in a breath.

"Do-do we—" Oska panted.  "Think we have time for—"

He stopped talking when Benson kissed him again and rolled his hips.  Then Oska pulled back and gently said, "Ah, ah!"  He dropped his eyes to watch his fingertip trace Benson's wet lips.  "I made a promise to myself earlier this evening regarding these lips."

He raised his eyes to meet Benson's and arched an eyebrow.  Benson kissed his finger, and then sank to his knees.

 

~~~

 

Instead of falling asleep on the couch before the end of the movie like Jordan thought would happen, he and Allegria were necking like teenagers and well past second base.  Allegria had been impressed with his ability to not only get her bra undone blind, but also his ability to get it off with her shirt still on.

"That a skill they taught you at the Academy, G-man?" she giggled.

Jordan laughed.  "More like—" he cut off as he thought that maybe mentioning the cheerleading squad had often enlisted the basketball team to hone their skills on them wouldn't be the most romantic thing to say.  "Among other things," he said instead and scooped her up into his arms as he stood up from the couch.

Allegria squealed and threw her arms around his shoulders.  She twisted her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and put her lips to his ear as he carried her back toward her bedroom, which in her tiny apartment was about five steps.

"I hope your partner won't mind me keeping you up so late," Allegria said and followed it up with a nibble to his earlobe.  Jordan bit back a noise and dropped Allegria's legs but still held her upper half.  Then he pushed between her legs as he laid them on the bed.  He gave her pretty, pink lips a long kiss and then pulled back.

"He's actually not my partner."

Allegria laughed as he bent down to kiss along her neck, fingers working on the button of the jeans she had changed into when they got to her place.

"I know he's not your _partner_.  Otherwise this would be really awkward."

Jordan stood up to slide the jeans off her slender legs.  "No, I know what you meant.  I mean, he's not my work partner.  That's kind of a Hollywood thing.  We work on squads with several agents and we work with different people depending on the case."

"Oh.  That's a little disappointing.  No Mulder and Scully bonding?"

Jordan slid his hands slowly up her smooth legs enjoying the way she bit her lip and squirmed a little the closer he got to the flimsy pink cloth at the apex of her thighs.

"If Benson and I bonded the way Mulder and Scully did..." he dipped his head and mouthed at the cotton, feeling it start to dampen, "you and Oska would be SOL this evening."

Allegria giggled, and then sat up.  "Wait, what do you mean about Oska?"

"Uh...nothing," Jordan said and kissed her mouth, dipping his tongue inside and forgetting his blunder in the sweet warmth.

He put his hands to the hem of her shirt and broke the kiss long enough to pull it over her head.  His hands felt massive on her small breasts, and she arched into the sweep of his thumb over her nipples.  Jordan began to kiss his way down Allegria's neck, loving the mewling gasps he pulled out of her as she tossed her head back and forth on the bed.  His lips moved down to her chest and he flicked his tongue against a peaked nipple before pulling it into his mouth.  Allegria moaned louder and tangled her fingers in his hair.  One of his hands went lower and he stroked her with one finger through the panties.  She was warm and already sopping wet and Jordan groaned as he pressed his finger forward, the fabric doing nothing to keep the digit from sinking into her heat.  He kissed down her stomach and over her abdomen as he raised both hands to hook his fingers into the sides of her panties so he could slide them over her hips and down her legs.  He kissed and licked feverishly as he moved closer to his goal and put both hands on her thighs, pushing them apart.  Allegria cried out when he spread her and just before he dipped his tongue inside her, Jordan opened his eyes.

He sat up with a start, and then turned away—his eyes fell to his groin.  He groaned as he realized his erection had completely and utterly disappeared.

"Shit."

"Jordan?"  Allegria sounded worried and sat up.  "Jordan, is something wrong?"

Jordan laughed humorlessly and covered his face with a hand.  "You are absolutely going to hate me."

Allegria scooted back and drew her comforter up to her side to partially hide her nakedness.

"What do you mean, what's wrong?"

Jordan shook his head.  "Nothing.  Just my own hang ups.  I'm sorry.  I should go."

"Go?" Allegria said sounding more surprised than angry.  "Why?  Did I do something?"

Jordan turned to her and took her hand.  "No, of course not.  Well, not in the way you're thinking."

Allegria looked to the side and then back to him.  "So, it is me."

"No, not you—just."  Jordan groaned again.  "You are going to hate me if I tell you."

"Maybe.  But I will definitely hate you if you don't."

Jordan drew in a breath and then sighed heavily.

"Jordan."  Allegria crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips.  She looked more cute than intimidating, but he decided not to share that with her.

"Okay.  You know that I've been with the Bureau for a little over two years, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm actually new to the criminal investigation part.  This is my first case."  Jordan's eyes unfocused as he thought about the case.

"Hey," Allegria said gently and leaned forward to rub his arm.  "It's okay.  I don't know the details, but I know these murders are really bad."

Jordan shook himself and put his hand over Allegria's.  "Yes, it is, but that's not the—problem.  Before I worked the criminal side of the house, I was in the Cyber Division.  And we do a lot of things in that unit like track criminal hackers and prevent foreign government intrusions into our system.  But the squad I worked on for two years...it's called innocent images."

"Innocent images?" Allegria asked with a look that said she hoped that didn't mean what she thought it meant.

"Child pornography," Jordan clarified.  "I spent about two years looking at some really disturbing material in the hopes of identifying victims, offenders, and locations.  And it also made me—uncomfortable with some things.  Especially in a sexual situation."

He tried to meet her eyes and she cocked her head as she looked at him.  And then she blushed as a realization hit her.  She pulled the comforter back a bit and looked down at her Brazilian styled crotch.

"Oh, balls," she said.

"Yeah," Jordan agreed.

They fidgeted awkwardly for a moment.  Then Allegria said, "So, uh, this probably isn't going to happen, huh?"

Jordan looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck.  He blushed furiously as he said, "How long would it take to grow back?"

"Well.  I didn't shave it.  I got waxed."

"Ah."

They picked at the nits on Allegria's comforter to keep from looking at each other.  Then Jordan stood up.

"So, I should go," he said hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Allegria bobbed her head.  "Okay.  See you tomorrow at dinner."

Jordan laughed so he wouldn't sob with embarrassment.  "Yeah.  See ya."

 

~~~

 

Benson put on his other shoe and waited for the guilt or regret to start poking at him.  He sat up and watched Oska brush his teeth in the bathroom.  He felt only a pleasant warmth gliding just under his skin, and that wasn't an appropriate reaction.  He'd known Oska for not quite two months, barely had a handful of conversations with the guy, and a lot of those had not been pleasant.  And he'd just had unprotected sex with him.  Not smart.  Not responsible.  Not safe.  Oska flicked the light off in the bathroom and leaned against the frame as he looked at Benson.

"Ready to go?"

Benson nodded and despised the thin T-shirt and jeans that kept him away from Oska.  It may have been stupid, but he now knew he would never be able to have sex with Oska with any kind barrier between them.  It wouldn't be...right.

Benson felt a wave of panic at that irrational thought and stood up quickly.  "My jacket and gun are still in the kitchen."

"Okay.  It's on the way to the garage.  I think I shouldn't drop you off in the patrol car this late."

Benson smiled nervously and swallowed.  And then he had a thought that cheered him right up.

"Can we take the Charger?"

Oska rolled his eyes but smiled as he crossed the room.  "It's the only other car I have."

"Awesome.  Hey," he snagged Oska's wrist and pulled him close.  "Can I drive?" he asked suggestively.

"What will you do for me?"

Benson dipped his head and placed a chaste, closed lipped kiss against Oska's parted ones.  Oska's eyes snapped open, irritated Benson hadn't given him more.

"Let me drive and you'll find out."

Oska huffed and pulled out of his grip.  He opened the door and Bunny raised her head from her paws.  Her body was blocking the whole doorway.

"You were here this whole time?" Oska scolded gently.  "I don't know if you're pathetic or a perv."

Benson laughed and waited for Oska to get the dog to move before following him into the hallway.  They fumbled around in the darkness and laughed at how stupid they were for attempting to navigate the stairs in the dark.  Fortunately they'd left the lights on in the kitchen and Benson grabbed his jacket and gun from the handcrafted table while Oska retrieved the car keys from somewhere in the front of the house.  Benson ran his hand over the table again.  It really was beautiful work, and now Benson knew quite intimately just how talented Oska's hands were.

"Let's go, Remick!"

 

It was just shy of two thirty in the morning when Benson pulled into a parking spot at the Lakeside Motor Lodge.  He put the car in park, but let the engine idle.  He ran his hands over the real leather steering wheel.

"This car is beautiful, Oz.  Really."

Oska laughed softly and shook his head.  "Why do you keep calling me 'Oz?'"

"Why does it bother you?"

"Because.  Oska is already a nickname.  You can't shorten a nickname."

"Sure you can.  It just becomes a pet name."  He grinned at him.

Oska made a disgusted face, but then smiled softly.  "No pet names.  We're—"

"Keeping this impersonal.  Yeah, I got it."

Oska rubbed his forehead.  "Yeah.  Impersonal."  He glanced over, almost shyly, at Benson.

"What is Oska short for?  Mercer sounds a little—white bread."

"Yeah, it is.  My father—birth father—is American of English descent.  My mother was Russian and lost the fight with my dad over what to name me.  So she just always called me Oska, which is the diminutive for Osip—Russian version of Joseph—and that's what everyone learned to call me."

"So, what, your dad wanted to name you Bob or something?"

"No.  My name is…Vladimir."

Benson couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face.  "Vladimir?  I thought your dad _won_ the fight."

"He did.  The Russian diminutive for Vladimir is Vova."

Benson bit his laughter.  "Vova?  Ew."

Oska shook his head warningly.  "Please don't.  I would prefer Oz to Vova."

Benson laughed and nodded.  "You got it, Oz."

Oska groaned.  "Fuck.  That's not what I meant."  He scowled at Benson's growing grin.  "Hey, aren't you supposed to be doing something for me for letting you drive?"

"Oh, yeah."

Benson leaned forward, pulling Oska in with a hand to the back of his neck.  They kissed mostly closed mouth, trying to keep the heat from rising again—like it had in the shower.  Twice.  Benson put his other hand to Oska's face and held him as he flicked his tongue along the seam of Oska's lips.

"No," Oska said.  "No..." then he pushed forward and thrust his tongue into Benson's eager mouth.  The sound of a seatbelt unbuckling startled Benson for a moment, but then he had a lapful of Oska to distract him.  He reached a hand down to pull on the mechanism that moved the seat back as far as possible, and then he reclined it back a bit.  He pulled Oska close to keep him away from the wheel.  He could just picture them scaring the living daylights out of themselves if Oska bumped into the horn.

Oska managed to get his knees on the seat just outside Benson's legs and settled squarely in his lap.  Benson wrapped his arms around his waist and rolled his hips up into the warm invitation of Oska's body.  They never once broke the kiss, instead taking in breaths when they needed it by kissing full upper lips and nibbling on plush lower lips.

"Fucking hell," Oska moaned softly against Benson's lips as his hands ran wildly though his hair, nails scraping lightly along his scalp.  "I can't believe I'm doing this.  You're like a fucking incubus or something."

Benson chuckled and sucked Oska's lower lip into his mouth, and then he pulled back letting it slide slowly back out through the pull of his teeth.

"And here I thought it was just my winning personality."

Oska sighed and petted Benson's hair as his eyes roamed over his face.

"Benson—we can't..."

"I know," Benson said.  "Believe me, I know."

They looked at each other for another long moment, and then Oska leaned forward hesitantly.  Benson tilted his head up, encouraging Oska to bring their lips together again.  They startled apart when something rapped sharply on the window.  They looked around and noticed the whole car was fogged up.

"Shit," Oska said as he slid awkwardly back into his seat.  Benson used the hand crank to roll down the window.  Jordan was bent over at the waist, grinning at them.

"Excuse me, kids," he said, "I think it's way past your curfew."

"Funny," Benson said flatly.  He turned off the car and he and Oska got out so that Oska could get in the driver's side.  Though he hadn't had much trouble maneuvering into it before.

He looked away from Oska as he walked around the car so it wouldn't be quite so obvious how pathetic he was, and then he noticed Jordan was wearing his running clothes, which consisted only of a pair of nylon shorts and a T-shirt.  It was way too cold this late in October in New England to go running around in the dead of night in so little.  It was crazy to go running in the middle of the night period, but he was definitely returning from a run as his shirt had sweat stains and his headphones dangled from one hand.

"What the hell were you doing out running at this time of night?"

"Uh...just...working off some excess energy."

"Allegria didn't take care of that?" Oska asked like he didn't really want to know the answer.

"Oh, yeah.  That uh, didn't really pan out."

Oska looked at him sharply.  "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!  Like, literally nothing.  There was...a landscaping issue."

"Landscaping?" Oska and Benson asked together.

Jordan made a discomfited expression.  "She had a Brazilian."

"Ohhh," Benson said in sympathetic understanding.

"I didn't need to know that," Oska griped, "but so what?"

"He used to work kiddie porn," Benson said.

"Ohhh," Oska said in sympathetic understanding.  "Well, them's the breaks, kid."

Benson laughed and Jordan made a face at them.  "You guys suck.  Each other's dicks.  Literally."

Benson laughed harder but Oska didn't look too amused, so he tempered his laughter and ran a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

"Hey, Jordan, turn around for a second."

"Why?"

Benson gave him a look and the younger man put his hands in the air and turned around.  Benson took Oska' face in his hands and kissed him.

"Goodnight."

Benson couldn't see it, but he felt the warmth of Oska's blush under his fingers.

"Yeah, goodnight," he mumbled and slid into the car.

Jordan and Benson watched him drive out of the parking lot and then turned to face each other.

"So, we're going to get about three and a half hours sleep tonight?" Benson guesstimated.

"Yeah, tomorrow is going to be a great day."


	4. Gathouel

**Friday, October 25, 2013**

 

_Today is not a great day_ , Jordan thought to himself as his senses were barraged with the horror of another crime scene.

They were in the woods about two hundred yards from the lake shore.  Forensic technicians and police officers were working out from the body in a circle grid pattern.  Benson and Russ were examining the damaged bark on a large oak tree three feet from the body.  Ann was talking to Oska.

A call had come into the office around four in the afternoon.  Two frantic teenagers experiencing a very bad reenactment of _Stand By Me_ had called to report seeing a body in the woods by the lake when they took a shortcut on the way home from school.  They had run from the scene and had a hard time describing or remembering where exactly they had seen it.  Oska and Bunny had been dispatched to investigate since they would have the best chances of finding the body (if there was one) in the nearly ten square miles of woods the boys had done their best to narrow the search area down to.  An hour and a half later, Oska had called the station requesting for back-up, the forensics team, and the federal agents.

According to the identification in his wallet, the man was Daniel Hernandez, twenty-nine years old, resident of Elton, New Hampshire.  They'd already put out feelers to try to find the last person who had seen him alive.  Because he had been killed and left in the woods, Nic had informed them they would be able to get a very accurate determination for time of death via insect activity—or lack thereof.  Nic was already pretty certain the kill had been pretty recent, especially since the dried blood and exposed innards had a freshness that indicated Hernandez had died within several hours of discovery.

Jordan was very certain they were at the scene of the kill and not a dump site.  The fallen autumn leaves and underbrush were in disarray leading up to and around the tree Benson and Russ were examining.  The bark had been scraped off in a line that would be about chest height if a man were kneeling.  It was probably damage from rope.  There were abrasions on the body's face, torso, and genitalia.  It seemed like he had been tied facing the tree and had struggled against his bonds.  Very large, dark bruises covered his back and buttocks and surrounded breaks in his skin.  His chest cavity had dents in it and his hips were at a strange angle.  He'd definitely been beaten with something heavy enough to break and dislocate bone.  He'd been beaten—hammered—with something large and heavy.  Jordan's first thought had been a sledge hammer.

There was also blood streaking his inner thighs and his throat was distended.  They'd thought it was just broken at first until Nic confirmed that something was lodged down his trachea, but she would wait until she got the body to the lab to try to extract it.

Everything about the scene screamed a lack of control, even a lack of experience.  This was nothing like Smith's or Vanderpool's scenes.  Heck, even Thompson's was better organized than this.  The only thing that kept this from being a random killing in the woods, other than the extreme brutality and sexual component, was the name "Gathouel" carved into his chest and the word "wrathful" branded across his knuckles like a gang tattoo.

None of it added up.  Killers tended to be organized or disorganized; they didn't switch back and forth depending on their mood or the day of the week.  It couldn't be a copycat—too many things that weren't public knowledge were the same.  Things were the same, things were different—one and one just didn't equal one.  Jordan tilted his head as he let his eyes sweep over the broken body of Daniel Hernandez.  One and one may not equal one—but it did equal two.  Two killers...?  The master and the student?

"Jordan!"

Jordan turned and saw Benson waving him over from a few meters away from the damaged oak.  Jordan picked his way carefully over the ground, not wanting to disturb anything even though the scene had been photographed from about seventy different angles.  Benson, Russ, and three forensic technicians were gathered around a patch of forest floor that had been cleared of leaves and debris.

"What is it?" he asked.

Benson pointed at the dirt.  "Look at that."

Clear as day, as if someone had made the mark for forensic students to use as a study tool, was a boot print.  It was the full boot, tread pattern completely intact.

"Is this?" Jordan asked, barely daring to hope.

Benson grinned.  "It is."

One of the technicians piped up.  "We can tell just by looking that this is way too small to belong to the victim.  And the boys that found the body were wearing tennis shoes.  We found their tracks on the east side of the body."

"This is real evidence," Jordan said with a disbelieving laugh.

"At last," Benson muttered.

"Yeah," Jordan murmured softly.  "I need to talk to you about that."

Benson tilted his head curiously.  "Okay.  We'll talk at the station.  We're about done here.  We need to get out of these amazing science-y tech-y people's way anyway."  He gave the youngest technician a wink and she turned bright pink.

"We'll get this processed right away!" she burst out.  "We'll be able to tell you height and weight of the guy and the brand of the shoe!"

The other two technicians made grumbling, amused noises behind her and the pink started to turn red.

Jordan turned so he could grin discreetly at Benson and saw Russ calling to another officer as he took a step back, not looking where he was going.

"Look out!" Jordan shouted.

Benson whipped around with remarkable reflexes and grabbed Russ as he stumbled into him.  Jordan lunged forward against Benson's back and all three of them went sprawling to ground—but away from the impression in the dry dirt.  They lay unmoving on the ground for a moment, stunned because none of them had braced for the impact.  Benson had taken the brunt of the crash as he'd been spun by Jordan's push and had landed on his back with Russ lying over his head and Jordan across his legs.  Jordan started as something licked worriedly at his cheek.  He pushed onto his hands and Bunny licked his face in earnest.  He sat back sputtering and pushed the dog away, wondering where the hell Oska was.  Then he spotted the officer, running his tongue over his teeth as he watched Russ and Benson disentangle themselves as they sat up.  He couldn't wait to tease Benson later about his jealous, possessive boyfriend.

"Are you okay?" Russ asked Benson as he apologetically brushed some dirt off his shoulder.  "I have no idea what happened.  Jordan, did you tackle us?"

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't really think.  I was worried you might stumble into the print."

Russ whipped around to look at the spot on the ground.  "Oh, shit.  Please tell me I didn't just—!"

"It's fine," one of the technicians replied quickly.  "You completely missed it.  And we've got pictures, so we still have that even if we couldn't get a good cast out of it."

Russ' shoulders sagged in relief.  "Thank goodness," he said flatly.  He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Benson up.

Benson brushed off his backside and hunched his back in a stretch.  He winced a little and Jordan hoped he hadn't injured something.

"Alright.  Let's just, get back to the station.  We've got work to do."

Everyone shuffled as they either prepared to leave the scene or returned to work.  Jordan turned and saw Ann beside him.

"What I'd miss?"

"Not much.  Just my amazing quick thinking that saved the evidence."

Ann gave him an amused smiled and then punched his shoulder.  He nudged her back and they repressed their smiles as they started to follow Russ out of the forest.  Jordan glanced back and saw Benson petting Bunny's head while Oska pulled a leaf out of his hair.  It put a smile on his face that lasted all the way to the station—where it promptly disappeared as they were confronted with a grim-faced James Muff.

 

**Sunday, October 27, 2013**

 

Fifty-nine hours.  They'd been at the station, with the one exception of the trip to the Hernandez crime scene, for fifty-nine hours.  The agents had managed to snatch a couple hours of sleep in shifts on one of the cots in the station's on call room.  But they'd been told under no uncertain terms that they were going to need to have some sort of answers to provide when the media came raging back.  And not just because of the media.  The public was demanding answers and the FBI executives that were taking a personal interest in the case were climbing higher and higher up the chain of command.  The last thing they needed or wanted was that kind of attention.

They'd decided to stay at the station around the clock so that as the forensic evidence trickled in they would be ready for it.  Their case had been put at the top of the queue and prioritized over every other case and many technicians had volunteered to stay overtime to work through the night.

The boot print had yielded the information that the wearer had been most likely male, about 5'6"-5'7" and 120 to 135 pounds.  Nic had discovered that the bulge in Hernandez's throat had been from his own boxer shorts being lodged down his windpipe.  She'd been pretty certain that they'd been stuffed down with a foreign object.

Hernandez's house had been searched and a crumpled card had been found in the trash.  Gathouel had been written on one side and the directions to a bar in Concord on the other.  Hernandez's live-in girlfriend had confirmed that the trip to Concord had taken place the previous weekend, and he had returned from it.  So, the card had been delivered to him prior to his kidnapping.  His girlfriend hadn't seen him in several days, but that wasn't unusual.  He would often disappear on drinking binges—usually after beating her.  Hernandez had a police record as long as Benson's leg and the last incident dated from no longer than three weeks ago.

Even still, he hadn't deserved to die the way he did.  Nic was almost positive every wound had been sustained while he was still alive.  Only the angel name carved into his chest had been postmortem.  They also knew that he had been killed in the early hours of Friday morning; an expert from the Boston PD had been dispatched on an emergency assignment and come in on Saturday morning to examine the insects found on the body.  Based on the kinds of insects and the eggs and larval stages and other gross things Benson didn't want to think about, the technician had given them a 95% certainty for his estimated time of death.

It seemed like a lot of evidence, and it was, but it brought them no closer to identifying a suspect.  Taking the usual route of looking into the victim's loved ones and enemies would not give them a useful suspect pool unlike eighty percent of all homicides.  Murders committed by strangers were always the hardest to solve—and they generally did go unsolved.  Serial killers got caught when they got sloppy or arrogant and began leaving clues.  It was happening to the Angel Slayer—but the pieces he was leaving behind were not interlocking.  Not yet.  But Benson knew they would.  If he could just line them up right.  If he could just see them from the right angle.  If he wasn't just a pathetic, desperate idiot who made puzzle analogies rather than actually solving the damn case.

Benson slammed the stack of books he'd been carrying into a plastic container and put a hand to his face and the other on his hip.

"Benson?" Jordan asked carefully.  "You okay?"

"Yeah.  Fine."

They were picking up the piles of books scattered around the office and putting them in bins to take back to the Rochester library.  Brian would be so disappointed to learn his meticulously gathered materials had given them fuck all to go on.  They were alone in the office.  They had sent Ann home to get some sleep and agreed to meet back tomorrow morning at six.  She had made them promise that they would leave by five o'clock.  It was now ten minutes after seven.

"We should just call it a night," Benson said.  "The announcement about the killer sending cards to his victims is airing on tonight's and tomorrow morning's news broadcasts.  By noon tomorrow I'm sure we'll be flooded with calls and we're going to have to look into all of them."

Jordan picked up the last stack of books Russ had piled by the door and walked over to Benson.

"Hey.  We _have_ made progress, Benson.  And now that the public knows and can warn us ahead of time...we've got a fighting chance."

"I doubt he's going to continue sending the cards once the announcement is made.  It's going to be all false leads.  Or fucking decoys."

"Maybe.  Even you said it depends on how arrogant he is."

"Yeah, but, I don't know what to think about what I used to think.  There're too many anomalies.  This just doesn't add up."

"Oh!" Jordan said suddenly, startling Benson.  "I meant to talk to you about this sooner."  He dropped his pile of books into the bin.

Benson noticed a thin book sitting on top.  The colored barcode on its top didn't match the others.  He bent over and picked it up.

"This one belongs to the Elton library," he said.  He turned and tossed it onto his desk and then gave his attention to Jordan.  "What's on your mind?"

Jordan snapped the lid onto the last bin and gathered his thoughts.  He knew Benson would never ridicule him for spit-balling a theory, but he still wanted his words to be succinct.

"I was thinking at the crime scene on Friday that we've gotten a second disorganized kill.  Two organized, two disorganized.  We've got two kills where the killer played more when the victims were dead and two kills when the damage was done mostly while they were alive.  The type of instruments used and how the cuts were made and where—there are differences, but also similarities.  But the similarities and the differences are with the same victims."  Jordan let out a frustrated noise.  "Do you understand what I mean?"

Benson crossed his arms over his chest and licked his lips.  He actually did understand what Jordan meant.  The whole case was confusing because there was no consistency.  Except Jordan had seen where the inconsistencies were consistent.

"I understand what you mean, what are you suggesting?"

Jordan straightened and tried to stop clenching and unclenching his fingers.  "There are two of them, Benson."

For one moment, Benson saw it.  It made perfect sense.  Two killing styles, two killers.  Then he shook his head.  "No, I don't—I mean the angel names—they're being carved by the same person."

Jordan nodded, undeterred.  "Yes.  By the teacher.  He starts the kills with the brands, and he ends them with the carvings.  But the rest is sometimes him, and sometimes his student."

It made sense, but he wasn't sure if thinking there were two killers followed Occam's razor or not.  He ran a hand down his face and cursed softly.

"Two."

Jordan shrugged.  "It's a theory."

"A theory we need to seriously consider."  He gave Jordan a small smile.  "Did you dream it?" he asked.

Jordan laughed softly.  "No.  I did the math."

Benson turned and faced the whiteboards.  He looked over the victims one at a time.  He heard Jordan sit down in a chair giving him the time and space to think.  He appreciated it, but his mind was a little fuzzy.  He needed some real sleep.  They really should just get dinner at Nell's and go to bed.  He turned to face Jordan about to suggest they close up the room, when Jordan sprang out the chair, his eyes glued to the thin little book Benson had tossed onto his desk for return to the Elton library.  Benson put out a hand, concerned.

"Jordan, are you okay?"

"Natalia Smith," Jordan said.  "What is her estimated time of death?"

"What?  Why—"

"Natalia Smith's estimated time of death, Benson!  I know you have it all memorized!"

Benson swallowed and took a step back.  "Um.  Late September 10th to early September 12th."

Jordan walked to the whiteboards and snatched up a red marker.  "Get a calendar.  Tell me the days.  The days of the week."

Benson knew better than to question the demand.  Whether or not an epiphany was nonsense should be sorted out after it had come to fruition.  Benson sat at his desk and wiggled a finger on the mouse pad on his laptop.  The computer woke up and he clicked on the time in the bottom right corner and opened the calendar.  He clicked back to September.

"Tuesday to Thursday," he said.  He turned around and saw that beside "Akael" underneath Natalia's picture Jordan had written "20th hour of Wednesday."

"Davis Thompson," Jordan said.

Benson pulled up the dates in his memory and looked back at the calendar.  "Saturday to Wednesday morning when we found him."

Back on the whiteboard next to Damael, Jordan had written "Tuesday."

"Sarah Vanderpool," Benson said.  "Monday morning to Tuesday night."

Next to Apofael Jordan wrote "17th hour of Monday."

"And the bug guy said Hernandez was killed on the day we found him," Jordan said.  He wrote "Friday" next to Gathouel.

Benson stared—more shocked than he had been by anything else in the case so far.  "He's—he's telling the victims when he's going to kill them."

Jordan shook his head, feeling a strange, disconcerting smile pull at his lips.  "He's not going to stop sending those cards."

"No, no he's not.  What the fuck do you have?"

Jordan turned the book over.  "It's a listing of all major and minor angels.  The entries in the book itself are about what they protect or what they represent.  And it's only a selection.  But the index has a complete listing that also says when each angel can be summoned.  Some are linked to days, but some are linked to a specific hour of a day."

Benson looked at the boards.  "And look—the hour specific ones are with the organized kills.  The general days are with the disorganized one.  The master can plan it to the hour and the student has more leeway."

Benson laughed a little hysterically.  "Fuck me.  There _are_ two."  A sudden rage blinded him and he felt pain somewhere on his body but he didn't register it as he screamed, "He's training someone to follow him!"

Benson felt like he couldn't breathe.  His chest constricted and his vision started to go black around the edges.  He needed to sit down.  Maybe lie down.  He felt cool hands on him and they guided him to the floor.  The tile felt cold against his back and he turned his face to press his cheek against it.  It felt good, cool, soothing.  He opened his eyes and Jordan was kneeling next to him with a bottle of water, but Benson didn't reach for it.

"What if it's not him?" he asked weakly.  "What if the DC killer trained someone?  What if this is just his student teaching a new student?"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that," Jordan said calmly.  "Come on, sit up and drink some water."

Benson obeyed and felt the beginnings of humiliation tickle the fuzzy edges of his brain, but he probably wouldn't feel the whole of it until tomorrow morning.

"There were no disorganized killings in DC," Jordan reminded him.  "It was him.  And he came here.  He came home.  To train someone new."

Benson nodded.  "Home.  He is from here, isn't he?"

"He knows everyone's secrets."

Benson cleared his throat and got to his feet.  "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened."  Oh wait, actually there was some humiliation coming tonight.

"No way.  Don't apologize to me.  We need sleep.  And we need food.  I'm not sure about the order, but that's what's happening tonight."

Benson nodded.  "No arguments from me."

They closed up the office and put on their coats.  If anyone in the bullpen had heard Benson's breakdown, no one gave him funny looks—at least not so he could see them.  On their way out, Benson spotted Oska in the break room.

"Uh, Jordan, can you hang on for just a minute?"

Jordan tried not to make it obvious that he glanced over at Oska.  "Yeah, sure.  I'll wait outside."

He gave Benson's arm a pat and walked out of the bullpen.  Benson walked over to the break room and glanced around when he entered.  Oska was alone.  He turned when Benson entered, and watched as he moved to lean against the cabinets on the opposite side of the small room.

"Hey," Benson said softly.

Oska closed the refrigerator and leaned against the counter.  For some reason, the space between them felt like a chasm.

"Hi," Oska said.  "How are you?  You've been going non-stop all weekend."

"Yeah, it's been—a little rough.  But, we've had a breakthrough."

Oska opened his mouth and then immediately snapped it shut.  Benson could tell he was desperate to ask about it, but he refrained with a strength of will Benson wasn't sure he himself possessed.

"That's good to hear," Oska said quietly.

"So, um," Benson glanced to the door; they were still alone.  "I don't know if this is completely out of line...but I need..." He looked up and met Oska's eyes.  He saw the man's jaw clench and his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath.  Benson lowered his voice more and said, "I was wondering if you could cook dinner for me tonight."  Oska closed his eyes and Benson added, "If you want."

Oska opened his eyes with a pained laugh.  "Benson, what—" he paused and glanced at the door.  "What I _want_ —and what I _need_ to happen—are light years apart."

Benson felt a strange sinking feeling in his chest.  "What do you mean?"

"Thursday night," his voice had dropped so low Benson could barely hear him, "was a mistake.  Everything about that night was a mistake.  And it can't happen again."

Benson felt liked he'd been punched in the gut.  He was feeling dizzy again.  He needed to leave.

"I understand," he said quickly and walked out of the room.

"Benson..."

Benson walked quickly through the bullpen and out of the station.  The cold night air was a welcome shock to his senses.  He breathed deeply and saw Jordan standing by the Accent.

"So, uh, are we going to Nell's?"

Benson walked slowly toward Jordan.  "Actually, I'm not really that hungry.  Can you drop me off at the motel?  I mean, we can swing by Nell's if you want to pick something up—"

"No, don't worry about it.  I can take you there and come back.  You look like you need sleep more than food."

Benson tried to smile.  "Thanks."

Jordan's eyes were soft with concern.  "It's no problem."


	5. Keriam

**Saturday, November 2, 2013**

 

Benson vigorously toweled off his head and then looked at the mirror.  It was completely fogged up from his long shower.  He was pretty certain he'd used up about half of Elton's hot water supply, but he'd needed it.  It had been a very long week.  Russ, James, and even Ann had been hesitant to accept Jordan's theory that there were two killers, even with Benson's complete agreement.  They had been more accepting of the meaning behind the angel names, but the point had still been debated for days.  And on top of all that the station's tip line had been flooded with calls from as far away as New York with people saying they had received an Angel of Death Card—and Benson hated that term even more than Angel Slayer.

There had only been a handful that they had considered even remotely legitimate.  Those people had been asked to bring the notes to the station.  None had been black marker on an index card, but they had agreed to analyze the handwriting just to be on the safe side.  Benson could tell just by glancing at the notes that they weren't the same handwriting, but they had an obligation to the public.  The Elton PD didn't have enough manpower to keep them all under surveillance, so they instructed each to check in every day and to not go anywhere alone.  All five had checked in today and they'd verified that the handwriting did not match the Angel Slayer's.

Benson wrapped the towel around his waist and brushed his teeth.  He turned out the bathroom lights and the lamp by the desk.  He noticed that it was 12:07, and then scowled; he'd intended to be in bed before midnight.  He walked over to the drawer that housed his last pair of clean underwear.  He didn't know if he would have time to do laundry even though it was the weekend.  He might have to just buy some.

He looked up and raised an eyebrow when he heard a knock at the door.  He double checked the time.  It couldn't be another body—they would have called.  It must be Jordan.  Benson walked barefoot across the floor even though he tried not to as much as possible.  The carpet was actually pretty gross.  Benson opened the door.

Oska stood on the other side in khakis and a pale blue button down shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes even through the dark of night outside and the dim orange lighting of the motel lamps.  They stared at each other for several very long moments.  Oska drew in a breath to speak, looking contrite.  Then he exhaled sharply and just sort of looked annoyed.

"Not a fucking word," he muttered and stepped forward to take Benson's face in his hands.

Even though he saw what he was doing, Benson was still surprised by the press of his lips: warm, a little chapped, fucking plush as sin.  Benson kissed him back without thinking and they stumbled inside, Oska slamming the door shut with his foot.  They broke apart and Oska pulled back to look at him like he was actually seeing him for the first time that night.  A wicked smile curved one corner of his mouth as he ran his hands down Benson's bare, muscular chest.

"And Gus says I have the worst timing," he murmured.

He curled his fingers in the towel and Benson snapped out of his trance.  He grabbed Oska's wrists.

"Hey.  I will say a fucking word.  I think I might say several."

"Fine," Oska said, pulling his wrists from Benson's grasp.  He yanked the towel off and Benson tried to catch it, failed.  Oska pushed him toward the bed.  "Talk all you like.  Just do it on the bed."

"You're an asshole, Oska.  You treated me like shit."

"You're the one who walked away before I finished," Oska said.  Benson's legs hit the bed and he fell back onto it; Oska crawled on top of him and hooked his hands under Benson's knees to slide him completely on the mattress.  "All I said was that what happened Thursday couldn't happen again.  None of the personal stuff.  But the sex—that we can do."

Oska leaned down to kiss him, but Benson turned his head.  That didn't change Oska's plans, however, as he just kissed his cheek, his jaw, and then a warm line down his neck.  Benson was still pissed at him, so it wasn't nearly as distracting as it could have been.

"Actually.  You said that _everything_ about that night was a mistake.  Everything includes the sex.  And secondly.  Maybe I don't want sex without the intimacy."

Oska repressed a sigh and sat up to look down at him.  But he didn't speak, and they just stared.  The light was harsh and unforgiving, but Oska's face shone golden, the angles of his cheek bones were sharp yet delicate, his nose a straight line that he wanted to run his fingertip down, his lips so full they cast a shadow onto his chin.  He was preternaturally beautiful, but not perfect: there were crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and bags underneath them.  The imperfections showed that he was human, that he could make mistakes.  Benson felt himself lifting his head off the bed, but then he forced it back down.

"And thirdly!" he said, embarrassed by the near shrill tone to his voice.  "You were a total asshole that night!"

"No," Oska said softly, combing a hand through Benson's hair.  "That night I was vulnerable and being honest about how scared I was."  His fingers curled in Benson's hair, and pulled, inciting a little pain and tilting his head back.  " _Tonight_ , I'm being a colossal douche bag."

They played another game of "You Blink First."

Benson lost so he said, "I hope you're not waiting for me to disagree."

"Benson."

"What."

Oska's grip loosened slightly.  "I have been living in my messed up head for weeks now.  You are working yourself to an early grave.  Can't we just..." he carded his fingers through Benson's drying hair again.  "...get lost in each other for a little while?"  He used his other hand to run a finger slowly down Benson's chest.  "Can't I just...suck your brains out through your dick so that they can take a breather on the floor?"

Benson wrinkled his nose at the mental image that presented.  Because he ignored the first part of it.

"And _afterwards_ ," Oska continued, "you can tell me what a huge King of Mixed Signals asshole I am."

Oska removed his hands from Benson's body, which made Benson frown.  He was still ticked off at him, but that didn't mean he wanted him to stop touching him.  Until he noticed Oska's fingers were working the buttons on his shirt open.  Oska getting naked was an acceptable alternate use of his hands.  Oska shifted and the fabric of the khakis rubbed uncomfortably on his skin, but Benson's dick was about halfway full and cradled pleasantly between Oska's thighs.  Benson wondered if he was wearing underwear.  He figured he was about to find out, but that didn't mean Oska should think that he'd already won the battle.

"You know, I'm not really in a fair position to make an argument against that logic."

Oska's hands swept his shirt tails back, revealing his chiseled torso.  Benson felt his eyes widen.  It wasn't like he hadn't seen the guy naked before, but _damn_.  Then he noticed the smirk on Oska's face.  He was well aware that Benson would not be able to form any sort of coherent argument when faced with the onslaught of his utter hotness.

Benson narrowed his eyes.  "Fuck you, Oska."

Oska smiled and leaned down.  "That's the idea, Agent.  I think it's your turn, is it not?"

Benson's breath caught in his throat and Oska sucked his lower lip into his mouth and suckled it gently.  He nibbled on the plump flesh, making it become tender and swollen.  Benson was completely focused on his oversensitive lip, a low, moaning surrender escaping his throat as Oska's tongue soothed over it.  Oska pulled back and it took a moment for Benson's awareness to float back down to his body.  His cock was now fully erect, pressing into Oska's bare ass.  Benson's eyes flew open.  When had he gotten naked?

He slid his hands over Oska's thighs and fit his thumbs against his wicked hip bones.  "Do you ever wear underwear?"

"Only when I'm on duty."

"Is that a true statement?"

Oska laughed and raised three fingers on his right hand, holding his pinky down with the thumb.  "Scout's honor."

"Were you a boy scout?"

"I was.  Are you really asking me that when I'm..."  Oska stopped using his words and rocked in Benson's lap.  They both let out porn worthy groans—and then laughed when they met each other's eyes.

Oska leaned down, fingers threading through Benson's hair, and kissed his lips.  He pulled back a little and looked him in the eyes.

"Are you okay with this, really?"

"What, meaningless, impersonal sex?  It's not really my style."

"You said you were a slut," Oska accused him gently.

"Well, I've slept with my fair share of people, but I don't do one night stands."

"Hmm."  Oska sat up and bit his lip as Benson slipped further between his cheeks.  "So, do you have your super whatever condoms?"

"My what?"  Benson asked distractedly as he traced a finger along a vein in Oska's cock.

"Your no-latex condoms," Oska said a little breathlessly.  "What do you use anyway?" he asked as he circled his thumbs over Benson's cute, pert nipples.

"Well, I used to use polyurethane..."  Benson's hips bucked up when Oska flicked his finger over the already sensitive bud. "...but lately I've been using polyisoprene."

"Those sound like big science-y words for plastic."

"Essentially."

Oska put his palms flat on Benson's chest and used the leverage to push himself down hard enough that as he began to rock back and forth Benson's balls connected with his ass with little slapping sounds.  "All right let's see 'em," he forced out between short, grunting moans.

Benson closed his eyes, grasped Oska's hips, and just went along for the ride.  "I don't have any."

Oska stopped moving.  "What?"

It was a struggle, but Benson opened his eyes.  "I don't have any."

"Why not?!"

Benson almost laughed at Oska's childlike dismay.  "Because, I didn't come here expecting to get laid and after last week I figured sex with you was off table.  And I wasn't planning on having sex with anyone else in town."

"Really?  That's kind of sweet."

"Is it?  I mean, what are my other choices?"

Oska didn't seem particularly amused with that answer.  "Alright, well, we'll just have to go without."

"Oska...are you sure?  Going without that time...it was..."

"Stupid, irresponsible, unsafe, blah, blah, blah."  Oska tilted his head back and a little to the side as he looked down at Benson.  "Would you really be willing to wear one with me anyway?"

Benson blushed remembering his idiotic thoughts a week ago—about how he knew he'd never be satisfied if there was ever a barrier between them.

"It's a moot point at this juncture."

"You're damn right it is.  And I didn't drive an hour and a half to another town so I could go to a drugstore where no one would know me."

Benson propped himself up on his elbows and grinned.  "What'd you buy on your secret trip?"

Oska's skin was dark enough that it was hard to see a blush on him, but at the moment he was clearly radiating some serious heat.

"Nothing."

"Come on, Oz," Benson whined as he bounced Oska in his lap.  "Tell me."

"I—" Oska covered his face partially with a hand.  "I thought I would offer to...bottom tonight.  But I've never done it before.  So, I thought I should...Oh god I feel so ridiculous."

Benson reached up and gently grasped his wrist.  He pulled Oska's hand away from his face.  Oska opened one eye and Benson rubbed the soft skin of his inner wrist with a thumb.

Oska groaned embarrassedly.  "I bought an enema."

Benson refrained from reacting just yet because there was a very important question he needed an answer to before he potentially pissed Oska off.

"Did you use it?"

Oska nodded.

"Shit, baby."

Oska laugh-groaned.  "Poor choice of words there, stud."

Benson laughed.  He studied Oska for a moment and then bent his knees to buck Oska off.  The man was completely unprepared for it, so he went flying with a yelp.  The only thing that prevented him from sailing clear off the bed was Benson keeping a hold on him and putting him on his stomach.

"What are you—?"  Oska's question ended in a squeak when Benson lifted his hips and made him get his knees under him.  Then he spread his legs so that Oska's ass was up and exposed in the air.

"B-Benson!"

"Did you like it?" Benson asked palming Oska's cheeks and pulling them apart gently.

Oska clutched at the sheets and kept his head down even though he glanced back over his shoulder.

"It-it was an experience."

"I bet," Benson murmured, running a thumb around the pink, puckered ring.  It fluttered when he flicked his index finger back and forth over it.  Oska jerked under him.

"Benson!  The fuck are you doing back there?"

"You want me to stop?"

The blush on Oska's cheeks traveled down his neck.  "Didn't say that," he mumbled.

Benson leaned forward and kissed him squarely on his entrance.  Oska bit off a noise and jerked forward.  Benson grabbed his hips and pulled him back onto his tongue.  Oska let out a keening whine and dragged his hands down the sheets and then slapped them onto the mattress again for a better hold.  He rocked back onto Benson's face as he kissed and licked him, flicking his tongue and pointing it enough to just breach the tight ring.  Oska let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Why does it—oh god, how does it feel like that?" he whispered into the sheets.

Benson pulled back to say, "Lot of nerve endings right there," and used the opportunity to work the tip of a finger inside.  Oska inhaled sharply and Benson slipped a second tip in, spreading him slightly.  This time Oska winced, but Benson soothed the hurt by plunging his tongue into the small opening.  Oska staved off a shout by biting a pillow and his whole body rocked back and forth as Benson fucked his tongue into his sweet, delicious heat.  He had a salty, musky flavor—one he actually recognized as Oska.  Benson groaned at the feeling of Oska clamping around his tongue and Oska gasped when the vibrations went through his body.

Oska started talking, but Benson couldn't discern any words other than his name.  He loved pulling Oska apart like this, and knew that it really was something he needed.  He slipped a hand between Oska's legs intending to give his cock a few quick pulls to make sure the pleasure was stimulating his erection, and was surprised to find it rock hard, heavy, and quivering tremulously.  Benson pulled back a little and replaced his tongue with a finger.

"You doin' okay, Oz?"

"Nnnngg."

"Okay."

Benson slid his finger in easily, Oska's cavern wet with his saliva.  He found Oska's prostate and gave it a couple of nudges.  And suddenly Oska was screaming into the mattress and the cock in Benson's hand trembled violently as he came all over the sheets.  Benson sat up, a little startled by the intensity of Oska's orgasm, but dutifully worked his cock until he sagged against the bed, still babbling incoherently.

"Hunh.  I wonder if that's what I was like when I had my man cherry popped," Benson mused aloud.

"Sh-shut-huh-up," Oska panted.

Benson rubbed his hand through the sheen of sweat on the warm muscles of his back comfortingly until the man flipped himself over.

"Fuck.  I am so sorry.   You were supposed to—"

"Don't worry, I will.  And don't get stressed over it.  This is your first time, so we're going to work you open nice and slow.  And by the time you're ready, you'll probably be hard again."

"Hn."

"And even if you're not, that won't really prevent me from enjoying it."

Oska scowled.  "Thank the heavens I didn't ruin our special night," he said in a faux Southern belle accent.

Benson grinned and leaned over to place sucking kisses on Oska's still slightly heaving chest.

"Pants pocket," Oska said languidly.

"Hmm?"  Benson was much too busy kissing and sucking and biting a mark onto the skin below Oska's left pectoral to pay him much attention.

"In my pants pocket is some lubricant.  Unless you have an allergy to whatever."

Benson moved to lean over the side of the bed and stretched out, just barely snagging the cuff of one of the legs with two fingers.  He pulled the garment closer and dug into the pockets until he produced the partially full tube they had used before.

"Couldn't spring for a new bottle, hmm?"

"I thought it would be okay!  Does it go bad if not refrigerated or something?"

Benson would have laughed but he felt a grown man shouldn't ask that question with such a straight face.

"No, Oz, it's fine.  I'm just yanking your chain."

"Oh.  Right."

Oska turned his face away from Benson, but bent his knees a little so he could spread his legs.  Benson felt a warm pulse of affection in his chest for the man in his bed.  He was clearly nervous, but wanting to do what he could for Benson.  Benson scooted close to sit by him and rubbed his thigh soothingly.

"Hey, Oz.  You don't have to do this for me.  I had my feelings hurt a little, but I don't hate you for it."

Oska shook his head.  "I'm not doing this because I think I owe you.  I want it."  Oska pushed up on the balls of his feet a little and rolled his pelvis.  "I wanna...feel...fuck, Ben, you.  I wanna feel you in me."

He turned his head farther way and put his hips back on the bed.  His knees came together and Benson pushed them back open.

"Ah, ah," he intoned, planting a kiss on one knee.  "None of that.  You want me, you're gonna have to open up."

"Don't make it embarrassing."

"That's half the fun with you, Oz."

Oska huffed out a breath and turned a look on Benson.  Benson just laughed at his expression and popped the cap on the tube of lubricant.

"All right then, how about if we distract you from what's going on?"

"How are we going to manage that?"  Oska's whole body jerked when Benson circled a wet, warm digit around his hole.

"Well, you're going to tell me how you've only slept with two people in your life and how on earth you went four and half years without sex."

"Really, Benson?  Sexual histories?  Is that really the best way to get in the mood?"

Benson kissed his knee again and pulled down slightly on the edge of his rim, eliciting a surprised, though pleasure-filled hiss.

"Don't worry, you leave the mood to me.  You just talk."

"I—I cannot talk about my ex-wife while you're doing...that!"

Oska sat up to try to look between his legs where Benson's finger was slipping easily in and out of him.  Benson put his hand on Oska's chest and pushed him back flat on the bed.  He was eager to slide another finger inside, Oska was loose from his orgasm and the lube was certainly doing its job, but Benson didn't want to rush him through the process.  Besides, his body was tightening up a little bit with his anxiousness.

"Just tell me who was first," Benson said, rolling the underside of Oska's balls with his thumb.

Oska's legs jerked up and a little wider at the touch, and he groaned when Benson's finger slid completely inside him.

"W-wife," Oska panted.

Benson repressed a laugh.  It was wrong that he was finding this to be arousing and funny.  He was sure Oska would do him some serious bodily harm if he realized exactly how much Benson was enjoying watching him fall apart at the simple touch of his hands.

"Your wife got you first?  Oh, Oska," he said disappointedly.  "You cheated on her?"

"What?  No.  Don't stop moving your fucking finger."

Benson smiled and resumed moving his right hand again, teasing his entrance with a second finger.  "Well, if the first person you ever had sex with was your wife, how did you have sex with two people if you didn't cheat?"  Benson gasped in an exaggerated, scandalized way.  "Unless your wife was present when it happened.  You guys into kinky three ways?"

Oska made some sort of noise that could have been pleasure, but was probably annoyance.  Benson used the opportunity to slide his middle finger in alongside his index finger, and then shallowly pumped the digits in and out.

"We actually discussed a threesome once, but it never panned out.  Jesus, fuck, Benson, your fingers are so hot."

Benson laughed.  "I had no idea my hands were such a turn on for you, Oz."

"No, you ass, they're temperature hot."

"Oh."  Benson laughed again and pushed them deep inside causing Oska to keen and writhe on the sheets.  He leaned forward and put his lips near Oska's ear.  "Trust me, baby, you're hotter."

Oska squirmed some more and Benson began working his hand, loving the way Oska kept pulling him deeper every time he plunged his fingers back in.  He was deliberately avoiding his prostate for now; he still needed some answers.

"So, Oska.  How did you not cheat on your wife?"

Oska didn't respond, he just kept rolling his hips gently in time with Benson's thrusting hand.  So Benson gave him a light slap on the thigh.  Oska let out a disgruntled noise and spread his legs wider, letting his knees fall sideways onto the bed.  Benson was impressed with his flexibility.

"I grew up with Andrea.  We knew each other since elementary school and started dating in middle school.  We dated throughout high school and decided to take a break when we got to college.  I dated Mary Ann in sophomore and junior year and then got back together with Andrea my senior year.  And that was it."

Oska delivered all of this in a rush and one of his hands moved unconsciously to pull on his cock.  Benson was pleased to see it was already showing signs of life again, so he upped his game and began massaging Oska's prostate.  The man groaned loudly and arched his back.  Benson kept working the bundle of nerves mercilessly, enthralled by Oska's thrashing.

"Shit, shit, Benson!  Stop!  I can't take it!"

Benson split his fingers and let them slide around the sides of the nub.  "Yeah, you can.  You're taking it beautifully."

"Sh-shut-up."  Oska worked his hips.  "Fuck, it's—something's not—I can feel—it's so stupid I know you have two fingers in me, but it feels...empty."

Benson licked his lips and prodded Oska's entrance with a third finger.  "You need more, baby?"

Oska closed his eyes and gave one jerky, embarrassed nod of his head.  Benson took over coaxing Oska's cock back to hardness with one hand and leaned down to nuzzle and mouth at his balls.  Oska sighed shakily and relaxed.  Benson pushed a third finger all the way in.  All of Oska's muscles clenched tightly and he choked back a noise of pain, but Benson kept his right hand still and continued to tease his growing erection.  He waited until he felt Oska's body unlock and his breathing even out.  He licked a long stripe up the length of Oska's cock and this time the noise Oska made was pleasurably happy.

"How ya doin', Oz?"

"Good," he breathed.  "Really good actually."

"Yeah?"  Benson began moving his right hand again and Oska moved with him.  The cock in his hand was getting hard fast now.  "But, we're missing a part of the story."

"What?  Seriously why are you still talking?" Oska complained.

Benson chuckled and spread his fingers on the backstroke before pushing them back in.  Oska jerked and tossed his head around on the mattress.

"Close, right?" he gasped.

Benson let go of Oska's cock and stopped moving his hand.  "Are you about to come again?"

"No, no.  I meant, I'm close to being ready, right?"

"Well, I'm kind of big."

"Don't care.  Hurry up.  I can still feel the spaces between yours fingers.  I need—fuck, Benson, if you actually make me say that I need to feel your cock filling my ass I will never forgive you."

Benson couldn't stop his laughter.  He leaned forward and kissed Oska's stomach.  "You know, I don't think I've ever laughed this much during sex.  I like it."

"Well, good for you."

"Alright, baby, just let me spread you a little bit more, and you can tell me about the third person you had sex with that you're not telling me about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I may be an insensitive jerk for making assumptions based on the other two's names, but there has to be a third person in this story.  Last week was not the first time you had ever fingered someone's ass."

"How do you know Andrea or Mary Ann didn't like anal sex?"

"I don't.  But...last week also wasn't the first time you've had a cock in your mouth."

Oska rolled his hips and gripped his own dick and began to stroke it firmly.

"Freshman year I may or may not have decided that I wanted to explore my attraction to men."

"Unh-hunh.  Keep going."

"And there was this guy who I flirted with and made out with a couple of times, but I didn't know what to do beyond that.  So, I asked my roommate, who was gay, if he could give me some pointers."

Benson made a slightly pained face.  "You did what?"

"He didn't seem to mind.  In fact, he seemed eager to teach me."

"Oh, no."

"Stop.  Pull your hand out."

"What?"

"Hand.  Out."

Benson immediately complied and Oska took in a couple deep breaths as his body recovered from the stimulation.  Then he sat up and guided Benson to lie on his back.  He poured some lube onto his hand and then began to slick up Benson's slightly flagging erection.  It was at full attention again in no time under Oska's talented hand.

"Did your roommate teach you this too?"

"Yeah, actually he did.  It was the only thing I let him show me through practical application."

"Oska..."

"What?"

"You do realize that your roommate had a crush on you, right?"

"Oh, I figured that out when he caught me in the middle of fingering and sucking off the guy I'd been taking lessons for.  It was a very unpleasant scene.  And it was a very awkward three weeks until we switched roommates with two other guys on our hall who weren't getting along either."

"So, what happened with the other guy?"

"I felt so bad about what had happened with David that I couldn't see him anymore without thinking about the whole thing.  So, we stopped seeing each other and I never really had sex with him.  Then I decided to stick with what I knew and dated Mary Ann."

Oska threw a leg over Benson's body and knelt over him.  "Can we dispense with the chatter now?"

Benson ran his hands up Oska's thighs and grasped his hips.  "If you're sure you're ready."

"What's the line?  'Guess we'll find out.'  Or something."

"Oska, we don't..."

Oska grasped Benson's cock and guided it by feel to his stretched hole.  He lowered himself slowly, carefully, and when Benson felt the first drag of tight muscle on his cockhead he promptly told himself to shut-up.  Oska continued to push down slowly, stopping when it became too much, but Benson had done his job well and in no time Oska was seated in Benson's lap, lips parted on an unvoiced moan, eyes closed in bliss.

"You okay?" Benson asked, desperately trying to ignore the clenching heat around his member that was telling his brain to push up, to fuck, to take.

"So good, Ben," Oska said on an exhalation of air.  "You don't even know how good.  I feel..." he trailed off and didn't finish the thought.  He started moving, just grinding figure eights and moving forward and back, not up and down, but they didn't need that yet.  Benson tightened his hold on Oska's hips, not even caring when the man winced a little at the pressure.  He helped Oska's movements, and then began to lift him on every other movement.  And then every movement.  And then Oska began to use his thighs to lift himself up and before they knew it Oska was riding Benson hard and fast, their panting grunts coinciding each time their bodies reconnected.

Benson was lost in a cloud of pleasure and lust.  He'd felt a bare hand on his cock before, but it just hadn't prepared him for what being inside someone bare would be like.  It was so much warmer and felt tighter because of the increased friction.  He could feel the contours of Oska's body and it felt like he fit into it perfectly.  Every move up and down felt like was sliding in and out of a heaven that had been made just for him.

"O-Oska..."  Benson stopped and swallowed quickly because he couldn't spare the air the motion took away from him.

"Yeah, babe?" Oska moaned, head tilted all the way back, clutching Benson's forearms as he increased his pace.

"I-I—"  Benson cut off and found he couldn't speak.  His whole body was buzzing with adrenaline, riding a fine line between enjoyment and a desperate need for release.  He felt pressure in his chest and then gasped for air as he realized he was holding his breath in anticipation.

"Oska, baby, I need it...are you...?"

He started to reach out a hand to grab Oska's cock, when he felt a hand at his throat.  His eyes flew open and he saw Oska looking down at him, one arm outstretched with the space between thumb and index finger pressed against his windpipe.  They hadn't stopped the motion of their hips, and Benson dropped his hand to his side.  He met Oska's eyes and gave the tiniest of nods.  Oska pressed down.

Benson knew a thing or two about choking.  Choke holds were actually designed to cut off the flow of blood to a person's brain.  Without blood, the brain shut down fast, actually encouraging passing out so that the body would fall down and go horizontal, and as a result put less pressure on the heart to pump blood up to where it needed to be.  It was why there was minimal struggle and people often passed out quickly when choked.  Strangulation and suffocation on the other hand were entirely different beasts.  There were three things humans as a whole had an evolutionary imperative to fight and even kill for.  Food and water was one, sex was unfortunately another, and air above all.  When a person's air supply was cut off, they fought like mad and it could take a good two minutes, or even longer, to get a person to succumb.

Benson assumed Oska knew all this too because he didn't press on the arteries in his neck, he pushed on his windpipe, cutting off his air.  Benson's first instinct was to fight, but a split second later, Oska's hips came down and a wave of ecstasy spiked in his groin and then washed over his whole body.  It made him forget he couldn't breathe for a moment, but then when he tried to draw in air he couldn't.  He didn't feel the need to fight it this time—he just gripped the sheets and concentrated on the pleasure.  His chest grew tight, his lungs frantically tried to dispel the air trapped in them, and his whole body jerked and grew tight with desperation—but not with the need for air.  All he could feel was rapidly approaching rapture threatening to consume everything he was—and above him his vision was filled with a pair of intense blue eyes.  Then an orgasm hit him so violently he arched almost completely off the bed.  The sudden rush of sweet oxygen into his lungs made the orgasm punch through him a second time.  He could scream now and found that he was doing so loudly as well as sobbing and digging his hands so hard into Oska's hips he had actually forced the other man to stop moving.

Benson gasped in breath after breath, reeling in endorphin soaked pleasure as his consciousness floated somewhere above where his body lay twitching in abject satiation.  He became vaguely aware of his physical self again when he felt a coolness on the lower portion of his softening cock.  He opened his eyes and found Oska braced above him on one hand, just the tip of Benson's dick still in his body, and a truly beautiful expression of ecstasy on his face.  His other hand was working furiously on his cock and it was only a couple of seconds before he let out a shout and shot his load all over Benson's stomach and chest, one spurt so strong a bit of come caught on Benson's chin.  Oska moaned and worked his cock until he was spent and then slumped forward onto Benson.

He panted harshly and then managed to ask, "You okay?  Should I move?"

"You're fine for now," Benson said, circling an arm around his waist and holding him close.  After a couple of minutes though, he became a little too heavy for Benson to breathe easily.  He tilted his body slightly and Oska slipped to the side.  He kept an arm and a leg over Benson's body and laid his head on his shoulder.  They lay quietly together for a long time, though neither knew exactly how long.

Benson was in the process of dozing off when he felt Oska's fingertips trailing softly over his throat.

"You're okay?" Oska murmured.

Benson flushed.  "Uh, yeah...Um.  I'm sorry about that."

Oska propped himself up on his elbow and forced Benson to meet his eyes.  "Sorry for what?"

"Making you—making you think I needed that—or—I don't know.  That was weird, right?  I've never...done anything like that before."

"Shit.  You haven't?  I thought you were into it otherwise I never would have done it.  I thought you nodded...I should have heard you say yes!"

Oska started to struggle to sit up and move away, but Benson wrapped a weak arm around his waist and pulled him back.  Fortunately Oska was as spent as he was so he gave in and collapsed back at Benson's side.  Benson pulled him close with the arm that was around his waist and used his other hand to grasp his elbow where it lay across his body just in case he got any more ideas about trying to get away.

"I did give you permission to do it...I just didn't know until right that moment that I wanted to.  And I certainly didn't know until it was happening how much I would like it.  I—I'm apologizing because that's a really weird fucking kink to spring on someone.  Especially one I didn't even know I had.  I mean, god, that's weird, right?  Breath play?  I mean, I don't do autoerotic asphyxiation or anything.  I'm not like—"

"Benson.  Shh."  Benson hushed.  "For one thing, of course you've never done autoerotic asphyxiation because you're still alive."

Benson let out a huff.  "I meant the act not the sometimes unfortunate end result."

"I know what you meant.  And it's not that strange."

"It's not?"

"No.  Hypoxia causes a kind of hallucinogenic state on its own.  Combine that with the endorphin rush of an orgasm and it can be like a chemical high."

Benson let out a small laugh.  "Yeah?  Explains why it felt so damn good.  Doesn't make it any less weird."

"Well, at least there's a physiological explanation for why you liked it.  Now me on the other hand—the fact that I got off on doing it—that's psychosomatic."  Oska propped himself up on his elbow again and traced the curve of Benson's strong jaw with a finger.  "I'm the one who's messed up.  I liked watching you struggle under me.  I liked holding your life in my hands."  Benson swallowed.  "And I liked that it made you lose control.  You keep yourself so put together—it felt like I was..."

He trailed off and shrugged, looking away from Benson's gaze.  "Anyway, sorry.  It's not something we should have done on the fly."

In response, Benson pulled Oska down and tucked him into his side.  He gave him a kiss above his brow and buried a hand in his hair.

"Way too tired to talk now, Oz.  Can we save our regrets for later?"

He felt Oska's head nod.  His thumb brushed over his chest soothingly, though Benson wasn't sure which one he was trying to soothe.

"Do you have regrets about tonight, Benson?"

"Not one," he said without hesitation.

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about."

"Are you really going to kill our afterglow by being all rational and realistic about what's going on between us?"

"I have to.  It's too easy to forget around you."

"Forget what?"

Oska just shook his head.  "Doesn't matter.  Shouldn't we get up anyway?"

"Why?" Benson whined.

"To get cleaned up?"

"I feel fine."

"Really?"  Oska reached up and swiped off the clump of semen on his chin.  "This is all over you."

"Eh.  Give it another ten minutes.  It'll liquefy and then look like it's gone."

Oska turned his head to hide his laugh in Benson's body, probably because it was more giggle than laugh.

"That is so sexy," he said when he returned to his place on Benson's shoulder.

"Yeah, well, so are you."

"Ucghh...I'm not sure that comparison is a compliment."

"Just hush already.  Didn't we agree to talk later?"

"How later?"

"Whenever it's not now."

"We can't fall asleep, Benson.  I can't stay here."

"I know."  Benson yawned.  "Just a ten minute cuddle."

"A ten minute cuddle.  We're not supposed to cuddle at all."

"Says the man snuggling into me like—ow!"  Benson scowled and rubbed his pinched side.

"Stop talking, Benson," Oska murmured sleepily.

 

Benson woke up four hours later when his cell phone started ringing at the same time someone started pounding on the door.  He struggled for a moment to orient himself, reaching out for Oska.  His hand felt open space and he turned to look at the bed and found it empty.  The ringing and pounding sounded again and Benson forced himself to get up and wrap the discarded towel around his waist.  Oska's clothing was gone from the floor so either he had taken it into the bathroom with him or he had left while Benson had been sleeping.  He was pretty sure he knew which one was the correct assumption.  He picked up his cell phone and brought it to his ear as he crossed the room to the door.  As he reached for the knob he felt the itchy pull of dried semen on his chest.  He hoped whoever was at the door would be too preoccupied to really notice any odd flaking of his skin.  As he opened the door his ear was accosted with Russ shouting something through his cell phone.  Jordan stood outside the door in the sweatpants and T-shirt he slept in.

Both Jordan and Russ were talking urgently, and Benson got the idea that he needed to get dressed as soon as possible because some shit had gone down overnight.  He knew he didn't have time, but Benson couldn't go to a crime scene with crusted come on him, so he took a quick shower and dressed in dress pants and shirt, but forwent the jacket and tie.  He did make sure to attach his gun and handcuffs to his belt, and then slipped his credentials into his pocket.  He met Jordan outside and followed him around to the far side of the motel and across the parking lot to the second building of units.

 

~~~

 

The Lakeside Motor Lodge consisted of three single story buildings that contained ten rooms each.  There was a single uniformed cop, who looked like a scared kid, standing in front of the partway open door of the second room from the east end of the building.  A few guests stood in their pajamas in their doorways, hugging themselves and whispering intently.  The night manager for the building was sitting on the pavement being propped up and fanned despite the chill night air by one of the staff.  Distantly Jordan and Benson could hear sirens approaching rapidly.

The young officer was visibly shaken and jumped forward to block them from getting too close to the door.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, this is a crime scene.  You need to return to your rooms and we'll let you know when everything is safe."

Jordan and Benson exchanged looks, and then produced their badges.

"Do you recognize us, Chris?" Jordan ask.

They weren't familiar with every officer at the Elton PD, but they had interacted with Officer Chris Benet on more than occasion.

"Oh.  Oh!  Agent Remick!  Agent Suza-kow-ee!  My god, I'm so sorry.  I'm just—I'm actually grateful you're here.  I cannot.  There's—" he stopped abruptly and shook his head.  "Why are you here already?  Did they call you first?"

"We're staying here," Benson said.  "We're in that building over there."

"Oh, god.  This is just.  You should."  Chris cut off and crossed his arms over his chest tightly.  "You can go in."

"Well, why don't you tell us how you came to be here first," Jordan suggested in a soothing voice.

Chris nodded and loosened his arms a little.  "We got a 911 call in and it was one of the staff here.  It sounded like he was reporting a break in.  So, dispatch called me since I was out on patrol, and I came.  When I got here, the manager was passed out on the ground and the guy over there doesn't really speak English.  So I called for an ambulance and went inside the room to see what the fuss was all about..."  His arms tightened again.  "And I—I came back out and..." he glanced at a spot on the pavement that was gleaming in the street lamps.  Chris had apparently vomited in reaction to what he had seen.  "Then I called the station and told them to send—everybody.  I guess they called you too."

"Russ called me," Jordan said.  "He says he doesn't know for sure it's our case, but that he figured it probably was because of the...nature of the call put in."

Chris looked a little embarrassed.  The sirens were on top of them now, and they turned off as the ambulance turned into the parking lot of the motel.  The cops and fire trucks couldn't be too far behind.  Benson nudged Jordan with his elbow.

"Let's go check it out before the cavalry gets here."

"Okay."

Benson gave Chris a pat on the shoulder and walked toward the open motel room door.  A thin rectangle of light spilled out onto the sidewalk.  Sunrise was about thirty or forty minutes away so all they had in the way of light when they entered the room was the overhead bulb in the entryway.  One of them would have to walk further into the room to turn on the lamps by the bed, but they hesitated in the frame, worried about stepping on evidence.  And definitely not because of what they could just make out on the bed.

There was an obese body trussed on the stripped mattress.  Her arms were yanked at an unnatural angle behind her back; her legs were spread to be perfectly perpendicular with her torso and held in place by something Jordan couldn’t see.  He could see shadows on her body that he didn’t think was from the lighting or the rolls of fat.  It looked like there were craters in her body—scooped out bits of skin and muscle and fat pockmarked her torso and legs.

Jordan swallowed a feeling of queasiness and felt the need to say something, anything to clear the buzz starting in his head.

“Ten bucks says her crime is gluttony,” he said.

Benson looked at him with a bit of shocked disappointment, and Jordan’s stomach turned.  Then Benson’s face softened to sympathy and he stuck out his hand.

“Nah, our guy’s more creative than that.”

Jordan shook Benson’s outstretched hand and they turned back to face the body.  Benson took a few careful steps into the room and managed to turn on a bedside lamp by tucking his fingers up into his sleeve.  The light revealed the body in more detail—and Jordan wished he hadn’t been right about the scooped out flesh.  He could now see that her legs were being held out so far by fishing wire that was strung from the corners of the headboard and dug into her ankles so deeply the line was actually covered by the rolled, puckered flesh.  Her face was a wreck.  Her eyelids were missing, her nostrils had been cut open and peeled back, her lips had been…filed down…was his best guess.  But there wasn’t a lot of blood.  So, either the killer had cleaned her up afterwards, or she had been dead when he’d started to play.

They heard the wail of sirens again as more vehicles rapidly approached the scene.  An EMT from the ambulance stuck his head in the room.

“Does anyone in here—Oh, god.”

“No, you’re not needed in here,” Benson said.

The EMT was gone in a flash.  Jordan looked at the floor to watch where he was stepping as he moved closer to the bed.  The woman’s large breasts had been sliced on the underside and pulled away from the body to leave plenty of room on her chest for the carving “Keriam.”  Across her stomach her alleged crime had been branded so deeply into her flesh the skin had cooked and curled in on itself, making it difficult to read the word.  But he could still make it out: “Gluttonous.”

“Damn it,” Benson grumbled.  “I don’t have my wallet on me now.”

“Pay me later,” Jordan, said, breathing through his mouth.  This close the release of her bowels was more evident.  “She died here,” Jordan said.

“Yes,” Benson agreed.

“This is different.  Killer One uses dump sites, not kill sites.”

“That’s true.  But look at this kill site.  It’s under our fucking noses, Jordan.  He knows we’re here and he did this to throw it in our faces.  I swear to god this man will not see the inside of a prison cell; I will cut out his heart.”

“Benson,” Jordan said softly, but didn’t know what else to say.

The barrage of sirens got intensely louder as several emergency response vehicles pulled into the motel parking lot.  The room filled with flashing red, white, and blue lights.  Thankfully after a few moments the sirens were turned off though the lights continued to bounce colors and shadows off the walls.  The sounds of equipment being gathered and soft conversations filtered through the door.  Benson was leaning over the head of the bed, so Jordan walked to the foot.  He got a clear shot of the damage between her legs.

“Oh, fuck,” Jordan said, and turned away.  He was thankful he hadn’t eaten for several hours, as it was he felt the acrid sting of bile in the back of his throat.

“Jay, you okay?”

Jordan started to say yes, but then shook his head.

“Jesus fuck what happened here?”

Jordan and Benson turned to face the door.  Russ stood at the entrance eyes wide and glued to the body.

“Is the forensic team coming?” Benson asked.

Russ tried to tear his gaze away to look at Benson, his head actually turned even though his eyes wouldn’t move.  “Yeah, they should be.”  Russ let out a small hysterical laugh.  “I think everybody got called in.”

Someone tapped Russ on the shoulder and he jumped about a foot as he turned to look at the person.  One of the forensic evidence recovery team members stood behind him, hand frozen in place where she’d touched him.

“Sorry, Russ.”

“It’s okay, Alyssa.  Um.  Maybe you should wait for your other team members to get here.  I don’t think you should start by yourself.”

Alyssa saw half of the body on the bed.  “Okay.  I can wait.”

“Alyssa, wait,” Benson said.  “Do you have any gloves on you?”

“Yes, sir, right here.”

She pulled some latex gloves out of a pouch on her belt.  Benson looked at Jordan and nodded toward the gloves.  Jordan remembered Benson’s latex allergy—and against his will had to wonder what he and Oska were using for protection since he’d gotten some unfortunate evidence that their fling wasn’t over in the middle of the night—and walked over to retrieve the gloves.  He slipped one on and moved to stand closer to Benson where he still stood by the head of the bed.

“Did you find something, Benson?” Russ asked anxiously.

“I don’t know.”  Benson shuffled back so Jordan could take his place.  “Jay, do you see that…is there something wedged between the wall and the bed?  Or am I seeing things?”

Jordan leaned over and looked between the headboard and the bed.  He couldn’t lean too far because of the fishing wire.

“You’re in my light, can you—that’s better.  Um.  What am I looking for?”

“Like a beige colored thing.”

“A beige colored thing,” he repeated to distract himself from the glimpse he got of the top of the woman’s head; she was missing skin and hair right on the crown—he could see her skull.  Then he saw what Benson was talking about.  It was a beige—thing.  It looked to be about the length of his forearm but the thickness was hard to tell because it was partially covered by the mattress.  Jordan straightened and then crouched down so he could bend under the wire.  He felt Benson place a steadying hand on his shoulder so he wouldn’t fall into the crime scene.  Jordan turned sideways to maximize his reach and felt the object—firm though pliable rubber.  He curled his fingers around it to get a good hold on it and already knew what he was going to pull out.

Jordan stood up and presented the large, flesh tone dildo to Benson.  Benson almost reached out for it, but then stopped at the last moment.  He rubbed his hand off on his pants even though he hadn’t actually touched it.

“Fuck,” Russ said from his position by the door.  Jordan and Benson turned to look at him.  “So he is using dildos.  So much for DNA.”

“Unless it’s on this,” Jordan said.  “Or has fingerprints.  If he didn’t intend to leave this here, maybe he doesn’t wear gloves when he holds it.”

Benson half shrugged.  “Maybe, but I doubt it.  But even if he did, does this surface hold fingerprints well?”

Jordan shrugged and they turned to look at Alyssa.

“It depends,” she said without needing to be asked.  “Plastic is often a good surface for making clear, full prints.  But, not if it’s porous.  I’ll be honest here—I’m not terribly familiar with dildos.”

“Just vibrators,” Russ said.

Alyssa made a shocked, annoyed face and hit his arm.  “Russ!  Gross!”

“What’s going on in here?” Gus asked as he arrived behind Alyssa in the door.

“Jesus, Russ, did you actually call everybody?” Benson asked with a small laugh.

Russ shrugged a shoulder and Gus said, “I think so.  Danny’s out there and he’s a damn traffic cop.  We’ve got the blood spatter and ballistics guys out here.  Oska and Bunny are outside playing fetch.”

“They’re what?” Benson asked.

“I think the only people not here are Agent Russo and the guy who brings our muffins to the station every morning.”

“Ooo,” Jordan said.  “Did we call Ann?”  He knew she would be pissed if she were left out of the loop.

“I called her, after you two,” Russ said.

“Good.”

Benson looked at the dildo in Jordan’s hand.  Something lit up behind his eyes.

“What’cha thinking over there, Benson?”

 

~~~

 

Benson stepped outside the motel, waving for Jordan to follow him.  The forensic team and photographers were moving in to begin their work.  He knew he should probably spend more time looking at the crime scene in person—he would regret it later when all he had was photographs to look at—but maybe he wouldn’t need to look at them at all if he could get a beat on the killer.  He spotted Oska leaning against his police SUV in a parking spot that was out of the way of the other police and emergency vehicles.  He was wearing his uniform, so he must have gone home after leaving Benson alone in the motel.  He shook himself.  Don’t have stupid thoughts like that.  Of course he went home.  Bunny was sitting beside him, shifting excitedly on her paws with all the commotion going on.

“Oska!” Benson called out getting the officer’s attention.

He started to smile, but then saw Benson wasn’t alone and just gave him a nod in greeting.  Benson rolled his eyes at him while Jordan was still behind him and couldn’t see it.  Oska’s lips twitched, but he still didn’t smile.

“Can I help you, Agent?” Oska asked.  “And please tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with your partner and that massive dildo.”

Benson turned and saw that Jordan and Russ were both right behind him.  He turned back and faced Oska.

“Um, actually it does.”

“Good Lord.  What do you want?”

“We think the killer touched this.  Can Bunny sniff it and then maybe follow his trail out of here?”

“What?” Russ asked around a strange laugh.

“Benson, how exactly do you think dogs’ noses work?” Oska asked dryly.

“Besides, she’s a drug dog,” Russ said.

“She’s a cadaver dog, right Oska?”

Oska gave Benson a strange look.  “Yes, but…I’m assuming that thing was used on the victim.”

“Probably.”

“The victim…whose body is in that motel room.  Where do you think Bunny will lead you?”

“Oh.”

“Can I stop holding this now?” Jordan asked.

“Here,” Russ said, snapping on a glove.  “I can take it over to Alyssa and get it bagged up.”

“Shouldn’t have walked out of the crime scene with it in the first place,” Oska said.

Benson frowned at him.  “I was trying to catch a killer.”

“And now I wonder how stringent the requirements are for becoming a federal agent.”

Jordan laughed.  “We’re mostly accountants.”

Russ waved the dildo around in one hand.  “Not so familiar with these then.”

“More than I’d like to be,” Jordan replied.

Russ and Jordan began a conversation about whether or not accountants should be more or less familiar with monster dildos and Benson turned to Oska.

“Can we, uh, can we talk?  For a second.  In private.”

Oska raised his eyebrows slightly.  “Sure.”

Jordan and Russ didn’t look like they were rushing to Alyssa’s side any time soon, so Oska gave Bunny an order to stay and walked around the side of his car.  Benson followed.  He wished they could move somewhere farther away, but that might look strange.  Oska waited for Benson to start, which seemed fair since he was the one who had asked to speak with him.  Suddenly Benson felt a little stupid and crossed his arms over his chest.  He couldn’t look Oska in the eye when he spoke.

“You left,” he mumbled.

“Well, yeah, of course I left.  I told you I couldn’t stay.  I couldn’t risk people seeing me leave in the morning.  And it’s a very good thing I didn’t because I’m not sure how we could explain why I was already at the crime scene in civilian clothing.”

“No, I knew you had to leave.  But.  You didn’t say anything.”

“You were asleep.”

“You could have woken me up.  You should have woken me up.  It sucks just waking up alone, you know?”

Now Oska suddenly looked uncomfortable.  He crossed his arms too and looked at something on the ground.

“I didn’t want to wake you up.  You’ve been working so hard and such long hours, I could tell you needed the sleep.  And it was a deep sleep, Benson.  It would have made you dead tired to have it disrupted.”

“But—”

“And you know what else?” Oska said as he looked defiantly up at him, finally meeting his eyes.  “Not only did I not want to wake you up, I turned off your alarm!”

Benson blinked at him.  “You did what?”

“That’s right,” he said a little defensively, “I turned off the clock alarm and the one on your cell phone.  You needed sleep and I was going to let you be late to work so you could get it.  That’s why I didn’t wake you up.  That, and I was concerned that if I did you would convince me to stay for a round three and neither of us had time for that.”

Benson’s face broke out into a smile.

“Don’t do that,” Oska said, irritated.

“You’re mad at me?  I could kill you right now for being so sweet.”

“Shut-up, I am not sweet.”

“You are.  And I want to kiss you.  And I can’t.”

“No, you can’t.  And don’t think it either.  Don’t get—attached.”

Benson opened his mouth to respond when there was a sudden burst of shouting and the pounding of running feet and scuffling noises.  Benson and Oska were already running around the car, hands on their weapons.  Barking began in earnest, and then there was a sharp whimpering noise as Bunny cried out in pain.  They rounded the car and saw a couple of officers threateningly forcing Bunny away from where Russ was bending over to pick up the dildo from the ground.

“What the fuck happened?” Benson yelled.

“What happened?” Russ asked.  “That fucking dog thought this was a chew toy and almost destroyed the evidence!”

Oska balked.  “That’s crazy!  Paul!  You lay another hand on my dog and you will lose it!  Bunny!  Here.”

The German Shepherd slunk along the ground away from the officers to Oska’s side.

“How did she get a hold of it?” Benson asked, taking a closer look and grimacing when he saw the teeth marks in the rubber.

“She grabbed it out of my hand!” Russ raged.

“She would never do that!” Oska shouted, laying a comforting hand on Bunny’s head.  “Were you still waving it around like a jackass?!”

“What happened?” Jordan asked as he jogged up to the group.

“Where were you?” Benson snapped.

“I—”

“You always act like she’s smarter than half the force, Mercer.  She’s just a fucking dog!”

“A very well trained dog, Little, who wouldn’t just grab something out of someone’s hand!”

“You know, this isn’t the first time that mutt has destroyed evidence,” Russ sneered.

“She was four months old when that happened!  And besides, weren’t you supposed to be taking that to Alyssa for proper storage?!”

“What’s going on here?” Gus’s voice boomed across the full parking lot, drawing even more attention to the group.

“Fat lot of good it will do us now!” Russ threw back at him.

“That’s on you, buddy,” Oska snarled.  And then he turned on Benson.  “Why the fuck did you take it out of the crime scene in the first place?!”

Benson’s jaw dropped.  He had no response.  Oska was right.

“This isn’t Benson’s fault,” Russ growled, taking a step toward Oska.  Oska stepped forward as well and the tension in the circle suddenly jumped up several notches.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Gus shouted, stepping between the two men and placing a meaty hand on their chests.  “Back off.  And calm the fuck down.  What happened here?”

Oska’s eyes were glaring long, sharp daggers at Russ, who drew a breath to speak, but Benson beat him to it.

“It’s my fault,” Benson said.

“It’s not—” Russ started, but Benson held up a hand to silence him.

“I removed evidence from a crime scene without properly documenting it—”

“I’m the one who did, actually,” Jordan said.  “You should blame me.”

Benson shot him a look telling him to shut up.  “I authorized the removal of evidence because I thought Bunny might be able to pick up a scent outside the motel—it was a long shot, and a crazy, not thought through one at that—but that’s why it was outside.  And Bunny somehow got a hold of it—”

“That’s the problem I’m having here,” Gus said.  “Agent Remick we can discuss proper crime scene handling later when I make my decision about letting you back into any of them.”

Benson flushed so suddenly and furiously he felt dizzy.  Gus couldn’t actually keep him out of future crime scenes because the case was technically federal and not local, but the publicly announced lack of trust was humiliating.

“What I want to know is how Bunny ‘somehow got a hold of it.’  Mercer, what happened?”

“I—”  The man cleared his throat.  “I wasn’t present.  I gave Bunny an order to sit and I walked a few feet away to discuss a private matter with Agent Remick.  But she wouldn’t grab something to play with it.  She knew she was on duty.  She knows she doesn’t play when she’s on duty.  He did something to her.”

Russ’ jaw dropped.  “I did something to her?  Like I was playing fetch with the evidence?”

“No, like you antagonized her with it.”

“What?!  Why would I hit your dog with a dildo?”

“I don’t know!  You’re the one holding the dildo with teeth marks on it!”

“Did no one else see it happen?” Gus interjected.

“I left to go get the evidence bag,” Jordan said, holding it up weakly.

“Why didn’t you go with him, Russ?” Gus asked.

“I thought Benson and Oska would be right back.  And Jordan said he would be back too.  I actually thought it would safer not to walk around with it more.  What were you two discussing anyway?” Russ said with a hard look at Oska.  “Why are you even here?”

“I was in my vehicle on the way to work when we got an all hands call to come to the Lakeside Motor Lodge.  Apparently, that call came from you, right, Russ?”

Russ’ eyes narrowed and Oska gave him a challenging look.

“All right, enough!” Gus shouted.  “This is a big enough clusterfuck as it is.  Mercer.  Take Bunny and go to the station.  Your shift started thirty minutes ago.  Little.  You’re going to canvass the guests of the motel and see if any of them heard or saw anything.  Paul, go with him.”

“Yes, sir,” Paul said, the only one of Gus’s employees to respond verbally.

“Agent Remick, Agent Szustakowski.  Take that fucking thing over to someone and bag it up.  And the two of you get to explain to Nic what happened to it when she shows up.  I’m going to follow the fire engine over to Euclid to deal with a body found tied up in the living room of a burned out apartment.”

“Another body?” Benson asked sharply.

“Yeah,” Gus sighed.  “But not one of yours.  Probably.  It’s the Squirrel Licker’s apartment.  I think he finally snapped and hurt his girlfriend.”

“Oh, Jesus,” one of the officers said.  “I told her not to stay with him.”

“Who hasn’t?” Gus grumbled.  “When I get to the station later today, I want a report of the findings from this scene.  And I don’t want it covered in anymore bullshit.  Is that clear?!” he roared the last question and everyone jumped.

There were despondent murmurings as everyone agreed to do as Gus bade them, but he didn’t stay to listen as he marched over to his unmarked vehicle.  Benson glanced at Oska and all he got was a fleeting glance in his direction, and then Oska took Bunny by the collar and led her to the backseat of the K9 SUV.  Russ looked at Paul and then jerked his head toward the group of people clustered in a gossiping group behind the police tape that had gone up.  They walked in that direction and Russ dumped the dildo in the evidence bag Jordan held up as he passed him.  Jordan turned slowly to look at Benson.

Benson rubbed a hand over his eye until he saw golden crackling lights under his eyelid.  He released it and watched the world slowly come back into view in his right eye.  Jordan was looking at him, judgment free, and with a large dildo in a plastic bag in his hand.  Benson almost laughed, but his head was pounding.

“Let’s—call Ann and get an ETA from her.  And we’ll let the professionals handle this,” he said bitterly.

“Benson—” Jordan started, but Benson waved a tired hand and he stopped.  Then he said, “I’ll call Ann.”

 

~~~

 

“Well, do you want the bad news or the disgusting news?” Nic announced herself as she stood in the doorway of the FBI temporary office in the police station.

Jordan turned to look at her, a smile halfway to being formed, and then he saw that Nic was pale and tense and wasn’t offering any sort of humor at all.  Russ started to get up to offer Nic his chair, but she declined, so Russ sat back down in it wearily.  Ann had her legs crossed and held her face up by a hand and propping her elbow on the armrest of the chair.  Benson was slumped low in his chair tapping the thin booklet that contained the information regarding angel names on his leg.  They’d discovered “Keriam” could be summoned at the fourth hour of Saturday.  The victim, Ms. Marissa Mueller, was probably killed at four in the morning, not a hundred yards from where Benson and Jordan slept.  It was six in the evening and the early wakeup call this morning combined with severe sleep deprivation was taking its toll on all of them.

“Let’s go with bad news,” Benson mumbled softly.

“Well, the bad news is that the dildo was useless; no DNA, no fingerprints, no manufacturer information.”

Benson closed his eyes and breathed like it was an effort.

“Well, I suppose the good news is that Bunny had nothing to do with that.  It had been bleached clean.  Possibly he set it on the bed while he mutilated her postmortem and when it fell behind the bed he forgot it.  Either that or he thought it was funny to leave a useless clue.”

Benson opened his eyes again and Jordan felt relief for them both that evidence hadn’t been destroyed by their overzealous and unprofessional actions.  Nic tapped the edge of a folder against her palm and gnawed on her lower lip thoughtfully before speaking again.

“More bad news includes that there doesn’t appear to be any other evidence we’re going to be able to use.  The team is going over the room with a fine tooth comb, but you know hotels are notoriously difficult to glean trace evidence from because of the hundreds of previous occupants.  And I got nothing off the body which could be linked directly to the killer.  She was clean, wiped down with disinfectant.”

Everyone was quiet as they absorbed that soul crushing, though not wholly unexpected, news.

“I know I’m going to regret this,” Russ said.  “What’s the disgusting news?”

“You told us her friends said she was meant to be gone this week on an extended spa trip…”

“And the spa confirms she never checked in,” Ann said.

“So, if we assume that she’s been missing since Sunday, I think based on the tissue damage—and healing—that she was raped repeatedly and brutally for five days.”

Jordan clenched the pen in his hand.

“The other injuries didn’t occur until late last night or early this morning.  The—wounds on her torso and legs were made by—shit, guys, it looked like he used a giant sharpened melon baller on her.”

“Oh, god,” Ann said and turned partially away from Nic as if that would help.

“Does such a thing exist?” Jordan asked.

Russ shrugged a shoulder.  “Maybe it was an ice cream scooper?”

“That’s way too dull,” Benson said, moving his mouth like he had a bad taste in it.

“It could be sharpened.”

“I still haven’t reached the disgusting part yet,” Nic said.

Everyone practically held their breath as they waited.

“Those wounds were done while she was still alive.  And—he punished her for being gluttonous.  He—he made her—”

Nic cut off and slapped the file into her hand, startling them.

“What is it, Nic?” Benson asked sharply.

“There was material in her stomach.  Partially digested.  But—it was her own flesh.  He made her eat her own flesh.”

“Oh, fuck,” Ann moaned bending over slightly to put a hand on her stomach.

“Jesus,” Benson breathed and lost all the color in his face.

Jordan felt a little lightheaded—and let the feeling linger.  He didn’t want to think about what he’d just heard.  He was done.

Benson’s chair squeaked deafeningly in the quiet room as he turned around to face his desk.  Jordan didn’t have to look at him to know he was looking at the small evidence bag on his desk that contained a photograph.  After leaving the motel crime scene, they had obtained permission from the courts to enter Mueller’s house since she lived alone and no one could grant them access.  They had begun a thorough search of the house namely looking for signs of a struggle or a note card from the killer.  What they had found brazenly left on the kitchen counter was the photograph.

It showed Mueller standing in her kitchen and the shot was obviously taken from quite some distance away with a telescopic lens through the open blinds on a window.  In her hand was a white note card that plainly showed black marker bleeding onto the back.  Mueller had a confused look on her face.

They hadn’t found a note card in her house and they were left to wonder if she had received it before the public announcement was made or if she just didn’t recognize “Keriam” as an angel name.  They had reviewed the tips and calls they had received the prior week—none of them came from Mueller.  But the killer had clearly wanted them to know she had received a card and he hadn’t stopped sending them.

“Is there really no good news at all?” Benson asked, hand on his forehead.

“Well, we are able to definitively link two crime scenes now, but the information still isn’t identifying.”

“What is it?”

“We found a partial boot print out back of Mueller’s house.  It matches the size and tread of the print we found in the woods at the Hernandez scene.”

Benson sat up straight and looked at Nic.  “Good match?”

“Pretty solid.”

“And this is the print that gave us the 5’6”-5’7” 120-135 pound description, correct?”

“Yes.”

Benson looked at Russ and Ann.  “Don’t you see?  There _has_ to be two of them.  I mean no disrespect to Ms. Mueller, but she weighed nearly 350 pounds.  There is no way a man that small could have lifted and maneuvered her around by himself.”

“He’s not necessarily small,” Ann said.  “That could be 135 pounds of pure muscle.  And if he had a cart or something to wheel her around on…”

Benson shook his head, but didn’t try to argue with her.  Jordan definitely still believed there were two killers, but everyone else was still holding out.  Occam’s razor told them that the simplest answer was most likely the correct one, and two serial killers working together was very rare.  But with all the evidence piling up, Jordan firmly believed the simplest explanation _was_ two killers.  It was the only way the gross differences in the kills made any sense.

The seconds ticked by in silence, and Jordan was grateful there wasn’t a clock on the wall for them to actually hear the clack of a second hand.  They all looked around the room at each other.  No one had anything to say.  No one had any grand epiphanies.

“Nic,” Ann said softly, barely daring to disturb the room, “that’s all you’ve got for us today, right?  The rest of the tests won’t be done until tomorrow?”

“Probably not until Monday honestly.”  She stepped into the room and handed the green folder in her hand to Benson.  “I was just dropping off a quick write up of my preliminary findings.  The official report will come after we finish the chemical analysis of the disinfectant he used.  It had some strange properties, but I won’t have access to a gas spectrometer until Monday morning at the earliest.”

“Thank you, Nic,” Benson said, opening the file out of politeness, but clearly not seeing much as he flipped through it.

“In that case,” Ann said, “is it okay if I go home?  I—my brain is mush right now.  I’m afraid I’d be more of hindrance than a help.”

“No, of course,” Benson said.  “You should go home and get some sleep.  Actually, I think we all ought to take a break this weekend.  Take the time to rest.  To think.  Write some notes, make some profiles.  Make some theories.  Anything.  We’ll regroup on Monday and brainstorm while we wait for the forensics.”

No one voiced their agreement, but the fact that no one said “No, we must keep working!” was a clear sign that they were all burned out.  Ann made the first move to start shutting down her computer and Jordan and Benson followed her lead.

“Hey, Nic, Russ,” Jordan said, “Do you want to join us for dinner at Nell’s?  Give us all a chance to unwind?  You too, Ann, unless you really need to get on the road.”

“No, it’s still—relatively—early for us.  I think I would rather eat first.”

“Great.”  Jordan turned to Russ and Nic.

Nic shrugged a shoulder.  “Yeah, sure, I could eat.  I actually haven’t been to Nell’s in while.  I always go in there intending to order a salad and wind up with a bacon cheeseburger instead.”

“You can put bacon and cheese on the hamburger?” Benson asked.

“Well, _I_ can.  I don’t know how strong your cred is with the establishment yet.”  She gave him a wink.

“I wish I could join you,” Russ said, “but I’ve got some personal matters I need to attend to that I’ve been putting off for too long.”

“Are you sure?” Benson said turning to him.  “Team Drowning in Our Own Frustrated Tears wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Benson!” Ann shot him a half-hearted scowl.

Russ laughed.   “No, I know.  But, I’ll have to take a rain check.”  He stepped closer to Benson.  “And hey, um, I am sorry about what went down this morning, at the crime scene—”

Benson put a hand on his arm.  “It was completely my fault.  And Gus and I had a discussion about it and we are still on good terms.  Hopefully this is all just water under the bridge.  Especially now that we know Bunny didn’t do any damage.”

Russ gave a shake of his head and an irritated smile.  “I kind of hate that dog,” he muttered.  “I mean, I know she’s a good dog and does her job well, but—I don’t know.  Dogs in general.”

“I understand,” Benson said quietly, straightening up the neat mess on his desk.  “I’m not really a dog person either.  My ex-girlfriend really wanted one, so I appeased her by telling her about this program you can adopt retired army dogs from and it’s great to rehabilitate them and help them through their PTSD and everything.  Just didn’t tell her it has a one or two year waitlist.”

Russ chuckled and slapped his back.  “I like the way you think, Benson.”  Louder he said, “I’ll see you guys Monday,” and walked out the door.

Jordan leaned close to Benson.  “You better not let Oska hear you say that.”

“Shut your mouth, Jordan.”

The tone was snarky, but the blush didn’t escape Jordan’s notice.  He grinned and Benson punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“You ready?” he asked Jordan and the two women.

Ann nodded as she gave a pull on the safe drawer, ensuring it was locked.

"I need to run downstairs and lock up the lab," Nic said.  "Give me five minutes?"

The quartet exited the office and Jordan locked it behind them.  The three agents passed through the bullpen to the front waiting room while Nic made for the basement.  The bullpen was quiet—even more so than usual.  Everyone had been affected by Leanne Woliczak’s untimely death; she was the Squirrel Licker’s long time on again/off again girlfriend and she had not had a pleasant end.  The Squirrel Licker had been arrested and brought in for questioning, screaming the whole time about conspiracy theories and that he was being framed.

Benson and Ann were absorbed with their phones, thumbs moving on the screens, eyes half unfocused.  Jordan thought about checking his for messages, but he was too hungry to think.  He leaned against the wall and then flinched away with a silent, "Ow."  He turned to look behind him, rubbing his shoulder.  There was a small corkboard hanging on the wall covered with dozens of overlapping pictures.  Old, faded ones buried under brighter, crisper photos held in place by colorful pushpins.  Jordan let his eyes roam over the board; the pictures seemed to be mostly from department picnics and barbeques with the occasional solo photo of a person with a large fish on a hook or a family standing in front of a famous landmark.  Jordan grinned when he saw a picture pinned down near the bottom.

"Hey, Benson, take a look at this."

Benson moved closer and looked at the picture he was pointing to.  A very young, baby-faced Oska was kneeling on the ground next to a black lab.  He held a certificate in his hand that indicated "Bailey" and Officer Mercer had passed the K9 Police Dog Handler training program.  The picture had been taken in a large green grassed yard on a sunny day.  In the background was a fancy, two colored wood dog house.  Benson smiled and Jordan did his best not to comment on the sappy expression on his face.

"I wonder if he built that," Benson murmured.

"Built what?" Ann asked, coming up to see what had their attention.  She gasped and then giggled.  "Is that Oska?"

"Yeah," Jordan said.

"The dog house," Benson said.  "He does carpentry as a hobby."

"Carpentry is a hobby?" Ann asked.

Benson laughed.  "I guess for some people.  He made an amazing table and chair set by hand.  And he actually uses them in his kitchen."

"When were you at his house?"

Jordan was impressed by Benson's total non-reaction to the question.

"Oh, one night Jordan was trying to put the moves on Allegria and I volunteered to make myself scarce.  Oska offered me a ride back to the motel but then took pity on me when I said I hadn't eaten and swung by his house on the way to let me have some leftover Chinese."

Jordan bit on his cheek to keep from smiling.  All of that was one giant pile of bullshit.  He wondered if Benson had ever lied that easily to him about anything.  To distract Ann from asking another question he pointed to a picture about halfway up the board.

"Is that Gus?" he asked.

Benson and Ann leaned forward to squint at the photo.  There was a man, who certainly resembled Police Chief Gus Lanoue, wearing what looked like a too small Minnie Mouse outfit and very heavy makeup.  They were still snickering when Nic came up behind them.

"Ah, I see you've found our bulletin board," she said.  "Well, we should really move along before you see anything else."

"Are you on here?" Jordan asked, turning to her with a grin.

"Nope.  Not a single picture of me.  Are you hungry?  I'm hungry."

Jordan was hungry.  Otherwise he would have stayed and searched though all the photographs until he found the one of Nic he was sure was on there.  Benson and Ann were also pulled away from the board with the promise of food and the four of them left the station.  Outside the air was brisk, but not too cold yet.  The sun had set about half an hour ago but the day had been warmer than usual and that rise in temperature lingered now.  They decided to make the short walk to Nell’s and Jordan paused as he felt around his jacket and pants pockets.

“Oh, hang on, I forgot my wallet in the car,” he said.

The other three paused on the sidewalk and Benson called after him, “We can put it on mine tonight.”

“I know,” he said over his shoulder, “but I don’t want to just leave it out.”

“It’s been there all day!” Ann pointed out.

“And who would break into a car at the police station?!” Nic chimed in.

Jordan grumbled and told himself that they would go back for their purses.  At the far end of the lot the Accent was parked slightly askew.  And parked next to it was an awesome red car with a hot cop in jeans and a T-shirt leaning on it.  Oska straightened when he saw Jordan and then fidgeted nervously when he noticed he was alone.

“Oh.  Um.  Hi, Agent Szustakowski.”

“Jordan, Oska.  I think we’ve become suitably intimate to use first names.”

Oska gave him an odd look, but didn’t comment on that.  “Jordan.  Is…Benson staying late?”

“Nope,” Jordan said, bending inside the car to retrieve his wallet.  “Hey, Benson!” he shouted and Oska started and put out an alarmed hand.  “Come over here!  You have the keys!”

“No I don’t!” Benson’s voice floated from down the sidewalk.

“ _Yes_ , you _do_.  Get over here.”

They heard Benson’s feet jog on the pavement, and he was checking his pockets as he got closer, so he didn’t see Oska right away.

“Jordan, I’m telling you, I don’t—”  He looked up and froze when he saw Oska in his casual clothing, clearly waiting for him.

Jordan patted Benson’s chest by his shoulder.  “I think Oska wants to take you to dinner tonight.”

It was too dark to see but both men clearly blushed and Jordan got a kick out of it.

“And after dinner, please go back to Oska’s.  I can’t take another night of listening to Benson scream like a howler monkey.”

“Fucking—” Benson went completely rigid.  “Jordan!”

“He _is_ a screamer,” Oska agreed musingly.

“Oska!”

“So are you, Officer Mercer,” Jordan said dryly.  “Have a nice night.”

Jordan left the two men to do whatever awkward mating dance it was that they did around each other and returned to the two quite attractive ladies he had the honor of escorting to dinner.  He continued walking toward the diner and they fell into step with him.

“Where’s Benson?” Nic asked.

“He got a better offer.”

“From who?” Ann asked, eyes sparkling.

“Who said it was with somebody?”

“You did by using speech indicating he was offered something by a person,” Nic said.

“Could have meant he found a coupon for a personal pan pizza on the ground.”

“Something’s going on,” Ann said with a smile sliding up the side of her face.

Jordan just shrugged.

 

~~~

 

Benson had waited as long as he could, knowing he couldn’t touch Oska in the police station parking lot or even on the well-lit streets of Elton proper.  But once they were on the dark back roads that led to Oska’s neighborhood, Benson slid a hand onto his leg.  He dipped his fingers onto his inner thigh and squeezed lightly.  He wasn’t even trying to instigate anything sexual; it just felt good to be able to touch him like he had a right to touch him in such an intimate place.  Oska put his hand on Benson’s and pushed it away.  He started to feel a little disappointment, but the man hadn’t completely removed the straying hand, just pushed it farther down his leg to safer territory.  And he left his hand near Benson’s, a couple of fingertips overlapping.  Benson turned his head to look out the passenger side window to hide his smile.

They didn’t speak a word on the trip, just watched the tiny sliver of waxing quarter moon appear and disappear through the forest lining the road, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” playing softly from the radio.  Benson almost didn’t want the trip to end when they pulled up into Oska’s driveway.  Oska parked the Charger in the garage and when the engine cut out they sat in silence, listening to the car settle and cool down.  They sat long enough that the overhead light in the garage went out and plunged them into darkness.  Oska opened the car door and the interior lights turned on, enabling Benson to see enough to get his door open and make his way around the car.  Oska waited until Benson had the door leading to the utility room open, and thereby providing another light source, before he shut the car door.  Benson waited until Oska was mostly through the door before slamming it shut and pushing him up against it.

Benson swallowed Oska’s urgent groan and thrust his tongue into his mouth, feeling a throb of arousal in his groin every time their tongues slid together, circling, massaging, stroking.  Benson pulled back for air and felt his erection come to full attention when his lower lip pulled slowly through the gentle drag of Oska’s teeth.

“Fuck,” Benson said.  Pretty much the first word he’d spoken to him all night.

Oska let his head fall back against the door, and raised a hand to pet the side of Benson’s head.  His eyes roamed over Benson’s face for a moment.

“I think Russ has a thing for you.”

Benson blinked.  “What?”

Oska shrugged.

“Are you sure…what do you mean?  A thing?”

“Like, he’s got a thing for you.”

Benson smiled and leaned down to kiss Oska’s beautiful lips.  “I have pretty good gaydar and I don’t think he plays on both sides of the field.”

“I’ve known him all my life and I wouldn’t say he did either.  But he’s…just got a thing for you.”

“Maybe he wants to be an agent.”

“Maybe.”

Benson leaned forward and kissed Oska again, lingering on the soft, warm feel of lips made plump from his attentions.  He kissed those lips again.  And once more before pulling back slightly.

“You jealous, baby?”

“No.”  Oska kissed him.  “And don’t call me baby.”


	6. Chariel

**Friday, November 8, 2013**

 

“Holy fuck, baby,” Oska panted.  “Th-that was good.”

Benson tried to chuckle but was breathing too hard to manage it.  “Just.  Good?”

“Stop fishing,” Oska muttered and pulled Benson toward him so that he laid his head on Oska’s shoulder and settled down flush along the length of their bodies.  He lightly drew a finger over the skin of Benson’s back in a repetitive motion, and Benson allowed himself to snake an arm around Oska’s waist—instigating a true cuddle session.

"Clingy, aren't you?" Oska murmured, running his fingers up Benson's neck and into his hair.

Benson didn't comment on the hand in his hair, the one on his forearm, or the ankle hooked over his.  He drew in a deep breath and let it out, finally back to normal respiration.  They lay together in amicable silence, but Benson wanted to talk.  He was just afraid that if he said anything Oska would freak at the intimacy and kick him out.

Oska had been on day shifts all week, so he had lingered at the station most evenings, taking Benson home with him every night but one.  On those nights Oska had cooked for him, they had had sex, and then Oska had driven him back to the motel.  Usually their time together didn't last more than three or four hours.  And Benson could tell that that was the way Oska, maybe not liked it, but wanted it.  Keeping each other at arm's length seemed to be the only rule they had.  In any other situation Benson would have had too much self-respect to get used like this, but he couldn't bring himself to ask Oska for more.  He knew that if he did he would lose him.  And however temporary this thing between them might be, he wasn't ready to let it go just yet.

Oska's fingers traveled back down to his neck, and then gingerly dipped around to his throat, lightly playing over his Adam's apple.

"How's your throat?" Oska asked softly.

"It's fine," Benson said, giving his side a reassuring squeeze.

Oska brushed his knuckles on the underside of Benson's jaw.  "I'm still not sure about this."

Benson made an attempt to shrug.  "Then don't do it if it makes you uncomfortable."

Oska let out an exaggerated sigh.  "That's the problem: I do like it.  A lot."

Benson smiled.  "Then do it, baby."

Oska let out a noise that sounded like he was trying to cover an amused one with an annoyed one.  His fingers danced along Benson's throat again.

"But what if I...what if I do it wrong?  What if I damage something?  Or do it too long and your heart stops?"

"Oska, you haven't even come close to that.  And it's only the second time we've done it, so you can only get better."

"Or I'll get over confident and keep pushing the envelope and then—"  Oska cut off and then dislodged Benson from his comfortable spot as he suddenly sat up.  He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at him.  "Benson.  I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt you."

Benson looked up at his worried eyes and scared expression.  He reached a hand up and cupped his face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb.

"Oska, my throat is fine."  He gave him a long, solemn look.  Then he smirked.  "My ass on the other hand feels like I sat on the business end of a baseball bat."

Oska laughed, and then scowled and brushed his arm aside.  "Don't make me laugh when I'm trying to show serious concern for your wellbeing."

"Okay.  Then we need a topic that you don't enjoy.  Suggestions?"

"Red Sox baseball stats."

"I don't know any."

"Fatalism."

"I took Media Studies to fill my philosophy requirement."

"Okay then, you pick a topic."

Oska placed his hand over Benson's heart and pressed his fingers against his sternum.  Benson covered his hand with his own, and then moved it to circle his wrist.  Just in case his suggestion made Oska bolt, he'd be able to keep a hold on him and make him stay.

"Why did you get divorced?"

Oska didn't try to bolt, but he did make an abortive movement to roll his eyes.

"Picked a winner, didn't you?" he said with a humorless laugh.

"Never mind.  It's none of my business.  So.  Fatalism.  Guess the Red Sox breaking the Babe's curse shot that theory to shit.  Or did it support it?"  Benson was confused; he really hadn't taken any philosophy courses in college.

Oska smiled fondly at him and reached out a hand.  He stopped just short of combing his fingers through Benson's hair.  He pulled his hand back and Benson closed his eyes, cursing himself for ruining their night.  Then to his surprise Oska tucked himself against his side and put his forehead to the bolt of Benson's jaw.

"It's probably easier to understand why we divorced if you know why we got married.  Andrea and I dated all through middle and high school, and decided to take a break in college."

"Yes.  Your experimental phase."

"Shut-up.  It was one guy.  And then I dated Mary Ann for two years, but we didn't really have much in common.  Andrea and I got back together senior year and stayed together because we were both doing five year programs to get our Masters when we graduated.  I got an MBA and she got one in Education."

"You have an MBA?"

"Yeah."

"What were you going to do with it?"

Oska shrugged.  "Start a non-profit think tank in DC."

"No shit."

"Yeah."

"But, you figured out you hated politics."

"But I figured out I hated politics.  And since I had no clue what to do with myself, I moved back to Elton with Andrea.  And we moved in together.  She got a job teaching at the high school.  I got a job with the police.  And we went on like that for several years.  And people would ask us, _'When_ are you going to get married?'  And then they started asking us, 'When _are_ you going to get married?'  So, we got married.

"We were together for nine years after college, married for five.  And we were never on the same page about where our lives were going.  She wanted kids, but I thought we were too young.  She didn't like that I constantly traveled to aid in disaster relief, and I didn't like that she hosted an endless number of those parties where you help a representative sell kitchen supplies or candles or jewelry or whatever."  Oska growled softly at the memory.

"A little bitter?" Benson asked.

"We had a cookie press, a citrus press, a garlic press.  I think one press was specifically for key limes."

Benson smiled only because he knew Oska couldn't see it.

"And don't even get me started on the candles.  I can't even pass a Yankee Candle in a mall without getting flashbacks of walking through the rooms of our house from pine needles to fresh linen to berry delight.  Ugh."

Benson repressed a laugh and turned his head a little to press his lips into Oska's hair.

"To distract her from the constant product parties, I suggested we think about having kids.  She said she wasn't ready anymore.  She was thinking about going back to school to get her doctorate.  I encouraged her.  She got accepted to UC Berkley.  We discussed moving out there.  And we decided it would be best for her to move out there first so as not to delay her starting her program while I stayed here to get our affairs settled, sell the house.  After a year, I hadn't moved, and she hadn't asked me what was keeping me.  Six months later the divorce was finalized.

"No one cheated, no one grew to hate or resent the other.  I don't think we even fell out of love.  I think we realized that—we were never in love.  Not really.  We were just comfortable with each other.  So, that was that."

Benson angled his head so he could lean his cheek against the top of Oska's head.  He placed a hand on Oska's arm where it rested across his stomach.  He allowed the story to sink in for a few moments, but then he couldn't help but ask his next question.

"So, I understand you not having sex while you were separated and then not until the divorce was finalized.  But it's been three years since the divorce.  How have you not—hooked up with anybody?  Am I just oversexed?  I mean, I get that not everyone has the same sex drive, but three years?  Technically four and a half?"

Oska sat up and threw a leg over Benson's body.  He settled in his lap and Benson splayed his hands over Oska's hips.

"Are you oversexed, Benson?  You go back and forth on your own history you know.  You're a slut, you're not really a slut.  What are you?"

"Well, let's just say prior to coming up here I was in the middle of a six month dry spell—and that was by far the longest I'd ever gone without sex since I was...oh, fifteen I guess."

Oska raised an eyebrow.  "Maybe we should find some of those poly-whatever condoms after all."

Benson slapped his hip and he hissed his displeasure, but stayed right where he was.

"I'm not that bad.  I've slept with...definitely less than twenty people.  Less than one a year."

"Jesus, Benson."

"Well!  I never got close with anyone and after a while people want commitments.  And I always wore condoms with every single one of them every single time.  So.  Plus, I get tested annually at my physicals.  I've never even had a case of the clap."

"Congratulations," Oska said dryly.

"And don't change the subject.  How did you not have sex for four years?"

"I knew everyone in town.  And they all knew me.  It made dating awkward.  It made random hookups impossible.  I wasn't about to drive to another town to pick up somebody in a sleazy bar."

"So that's it?"

Oska shrugged.  "That's it."

"Aw, come on, I'm sure you touched yourself, right?"

Benson gave him an obnoxious grin and quirked an eyebrow.  Oska stared him down, but there seemed to be a little color in cheeks.

"Of course.  Most people do."

"How'd you do it?"

"What?"

"Show me, Oz.  Let me see how you touch yourself."

"N-no!"  Oska was definitely blushing now.

"Come on, baby."  Benson ran his hands up and down Oska's thighs.  "Do it...for me?"

"I don't think I could.  It hasn't been that long since we finished and I'm getting on in years."

Benson used his left hand to circle Oska's cock in a weak grip.  He gave it a few pulls and Oska bit his lip and watched.  Benson slid his thumb along the underside of the head and Oska's hips rocked forward a little.  Benson let his fingers play lightly along the length in a teasing run up and down, up and down, up and...

"Mmn, fuck," Oska gasped, reaching down to grasp his dick firmly in his right hand.

Benson let his hand fall away and watched as Oska worked himself slowly into an erection.  By the time he was fully hard Benson's own dick had sprung to life and was pressing up against Oska's ass.  Oska rocked back and forth on it, doing his best to suppress his moans and grunts and only succeeded in making them come out as desperate whimpers.

"Oh, fuck yes, baby," Benson murmured.  "You look so hot, Oz.  Show me how you like it."

"Nn, stop taking."

"Why?  You don't like it?"

Oska rocked faster in Benson's lap and looked away.  "Didn't say that," he muttered under his breath.

Benson laughed and used his grip on Oska's hips to pull him down harder on each downward movement.

"You know, I've noticed something about you, Oska."

"And what's that?  Oh, yeah...there...harder, babe..."

Benson swallowed thickly and tried to collect his thoughts.  "You always complain about the things you like the most."

"I do not."

"You do—shitshitshit, Oska, Oska!"

Oska leaned forward and planted his hands on Benson's shoulders.  He kept up the movement of his hips, now sliding their achingly hard and wet cocks together, their balls dragging and catching together, intensifying the throb of pleasure in their connected groins.

"Fuck me, why does this feel so good?" Oska moaned brokenly.  His swirled his hips down hard and Benson's whole body shuddered with a violent frisson.

"C-cause it's sex?" Benson hazarded to guess.

"No.  I mean this," Oska ground their cocks together and they both groaned deep in the back of their throats.  "Why does another man's—his—um—"

"Cock?  Dick.  Schlong.  Tube steak.  Pork sword—"

"Pork sword?" Oska laughed and impossibly moved his hips faster.

"—Dong.  Tally Whacker.  Johnson.  One Eyed Trouser Snake..."

Oska was laughing so hard he partially lost his rhythm.  "Shut-up, Benson!"

"Thought you said you liked it when I talked."

"I lied," Oska said, leaning down and kissing him.

They worked their hips together, not breaking the kiss, and could feel the other getting closer and closer until they both moaned into each other's mouths and reveled in the slick glide of their pulsing members through the warm come coating their bellies.  Benson stopped moving first and fucked his tongue slowly into Oska's mouth as he continued to rut against him weakly.  At last they both stilled and came apart for air.  Oska put a hand in Benson's hair and pressed his nose just under Benson's ear.

"Penis," Benson said.

"What?" Oska murmured, still halfway gone.

"I forgot penis.  You could say 'Why does another man's penis feel so good rubbing in between my cute little ass cheeks?'"

Oska sat up and gave him a glare.  Then he looked down at the sticky mess they had made.

"So.  Shower here or..." Oska trailed off and looked at Benson.

"What time is it?"

Oska leaned a little to the left to look at the clock on the nightstand.

"11:40."

"Is it really that late?"

"Yeah.  I guess, we kind of, took our time with the foreplay this evening."

Benson hummed at the pleasant memory.  "Well, I guess I should shower back at the motel because the last time we showered together it did not go quickly."

Oska grinned.  "No, it did not.  We should do that again sometime."

"I agree.  Your shower is awesome."

"Just the shower?"

"Who's fishing now?" Benson said, giving Oska's butt a firm slap.

"Hey!"

Benson soothed the sting by massaging his hand over it.  "Although, tomorrow is Saturday.  No one is expecting me first thing in the morning.  You could drop me off later."

Oska raised an eyebrow at him.  "Are you asking to spend the night?"

Benson had an internal _oh shit_ moment.  Would Oska take that the wrong way and freak out?  Would he take it the right way and realize that Benson wasn't just talking about staying to have more sex but wanting to curl up next to him in bed and actually sleep?

"Maybe you should stay," Oska said hesitantly.  "I need to stay awake tonight anyway since I go back to overnight shifts starting tomorrow night."

"What?" Benson whined.  "Are you on overnights all next week too?"

"Afraid so."

"Fuck my life."

"Mine too."

Benson tilted his head on the mattress and sighed softly.  Then he lifted an arm and wrapped his hand as far as he could around Oska's bicep and stroked his thumb over the mostly relaxed bulge of muscle.

"So, you're saying you need me to keep you awake tonight?"

Oska chuckled and rolled off the bed.  As soon as his feet hit the floor, Bunny began whining and scratching at the door.

"Oh, good Lord," Benson groaned.  "That mutt is so codependent."

"Abandonment issues," Oska said from the bathroom.  "She and her litter mates were abandoned by their mother in a rundown house in a neighborhood just outside Miami."

"What were you doing there?"

"Staging site for the relief effort heading into Haiti.  It was in 2010 after the earthquake.  I found the puppies and took them to a shelter.  And when I returned from my tour in Haiti I took one home with me."

Oska walked back into the room, stomach a little shiny from cleaning it off.  He carried a damp washcloth and used it to wipe Benson down.

"You're, like, some sort of do-gooder humanitarian save the world too good to be real kind of person, aren't you?"

"Hardly," Oska said with a smile and gave Benson's cock a more thorough cleaning than it needed.

Benson hissed as his flesh protested the stimulation, but there was also the undercurrent of lust sparking underneath.

"So, am I going back to the motel after all?" Benson asked as Oska walked over to the bedroom door.

"You should," he said.

"That's not an answer."

"I know," Oska replied and opened the door.  He walked back to the bathroom with the washcloth and Bunny bounded into the room.  She didn't even go after Oska but made straight for the bed, jumping up on the rumpled sheets and lying beside Benson.  She placed her chin on his stomach, wagged her tail, and stared at him with brown, glass bead eyes.  Benson made a face and raised his arm to prevent her from suddenly lunging forward to his face.  But she didn't move, other than her shifting tail.

"You don't like dogs, do you?" Oska said as he sat on the bed beside Benson and scratched Bunny behind the ears.

"It's not that I don't like them.  I mean, I grew up with dogs.  Sort of.  My mom had Yorkies.  We always had at least two, for a few years we had four.  But they're not really dogs.  They're like overgrown hamsters.  Or guinea pigs.  My friend actually had a guinea pig that was bigger than one of our dogs.  Her name was Princess and she was three and a half pounds."

Oska leaned down to kiss Benson's cheek.  "So, why don't you like Bunny?"

"Who said I didn't like Bunny?"

Bunny raised her head and wiggled closer when he said her name.  Benson cringed.

"Yeah, no one said anything.  I just figured it out."

"Well!  She's hasn't been the friendliest of dogs, Oska.  First time we met she growled at me.  Every time I kiss you she tries to go for my throat.  Though I notice she doesn't mind when _you_ kiss _me_."

"That's because I'm the alpha," Oska growled playfully as he leaned down and kissed Benson's lips, flicking his tongue inside his mouth with teasing licks.  Benson hummed and grabbed a fistful of Oska's hair to pull him closer.  Bunny barked in alarm and Benson let him go.

"Seriously?" he asked in exasperation.

Oska let out a small laugh and then licked Benson's lips.  He pulled back when Benson tried to kiss him and flicked his tongue out again.  The next time Benson met his tongue with his.  They let their tongues play together, barely coming close enough for their lips to touch.  Benson dared to put his hand on Oska's shoulder.  The next time their tongues came together, they were joined by a third.

Oska and Benson pulled apart spluttering and grumbling and wiping their tongues with their fingers.

"Oska!" Benson yelled.

Oska just laughed.  "What do you want me to do?  She felt left out."

"I'm about to shut her outside that door and make her feel really left out."

Oska laughed some more and rubbed Bunny's head, letting her lick his face.

"Okay, I'm done tonight," Benson said.  "I'm not going to kiss you with dog slobber all over—"

Benson cut off as his cell phone started vibrating and ringing.  He struggled out from between Bunny and Oska and rolled off the bed cursing harshly.  He searched on the floor until he found his pants and fought to disentangle the phone and holster from the fabric.

"What's the matter?" Oska asked.

"Why else do you think I'd be getting a call this late on a Friday night?  There's another fucking body.  I can't—!"  Benson looked up and met Oska's clear blue eyes.  He took a modicum of calm from them.  He got the phone free and answered it.

"Benson, this is Gus," the police chief said in his slight drawl.  He didn't sound angry or upset.  But there was no way this was good news, right?

"Hello, Gus.  What's happened?"

"We've got a lead."

Benson clenched the phone tightly in his hand.  He saw Oska stiffen at his reaction, clearly expecting the worst.

"What kind of lead?"

"We had someone come into the station about fifteen minutes ago.  He has a note card with an angel name written on it.  It looks legit, Benson.  I think we've identified a victim before he's been taken."

"Is he still at the station?"

"Of course.  Get Jordan and get your asses over here now."

"I'm on my way."

"Good.  I'll see you in ten."

"Oh, um, it might be a little longer than that."

Benson made a face and hoped Gus wouldn't ask why.

"Okay.  Just get here as fast as you can."

"Will do."

Benson hung up and began searching for his underwear.

"What happened?" Oska asked anxiously.

"Baby, I want to tell you, but..."

"I know.  Just.  Is it another body?"

"No."  Benson pulled his underwear up and then stepped close to Oska and took his face in his hands.  "Not a body.  A fucking break in the case."  He kissed Oska passionately and Bunny stood up and barked.  Benson ignored her and kissed Oska until they were both slightly out of breath.

"And I'm sorry I can't stay tonight, but I've gotta go."

"Yeah.  Yeah.  Of course.  I'll get dressed and drive you to the motel."

Benson smiled and brushed his thumb over Oska's lips.  "You don't _have_ to get dressed."

 

~~~

 

Jordan pulled the door open to the police station, but didn't slow down his forward momentum to allow it the space to open.  He bumped into it and Benson crashed into him.  He grunted when the edge of the door jammed into his chest.

"Jordan!"

Jordan tossed him a disgusted look over his shoulder.  "You're the one who's right on my ass.  Back up."

"Just get the door open."

They struggled with the door and then put themselves back in order in the lobby before walking into reception.  Katie was at the desk and her hair was now fully chestnut in color.

"Gus told me to tell you they have him in interview room one," Katie said as soon as she saw them.

"Where is that again?" Jordan asked.

"On the left side of the building.  Down the hall past the stairs to the basement.  It has a big sign on it."

"Thank you, Katie," Benson said.  "Have they already started interviewing him?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know."

"That's alright."  He gave her a tight smile and started through the bullpen toward the interview rooms.  "They better not have asked anything past the basics," Benson grumbled quietly.

"Well, he has been here for a while.  It would be odd if they just stared at him the whole time."

"It hasn't been that long."

"Longer than it would have been if you'd been at the motel."

Benson gave him a glare.  "Just because Nic's apartment is a full five miles closer than Oska's house doesn't give you any high ground here, buddy."

Jordan smiled and nudged his shoulder into Benson's.  Benson gave him a quick smile back, but they quickly schooled their features and Benson gave a sharp rap of his knuckles on the door of interview room one and opened it without waiting for an invitation.

Inside Gus was sitting on one side of a simple, cheaply made table in a hard wooden chair.  A man in his late twenties sat on the other side.  He was lanky and probably at least as tall as Benson with a dark fringe of hair falling into his eyes and very light colored hazel eyes.  He was quite pale, but Jordan couldn't tell if that was his natural complexion or if the circumstances had drained him.

"Thank you for coming in so late, agents," Gus said standing up.  "This is Brendan Foley.  Mr. Foley this is Special Agent Benson Remick, and Special Agent Jordan Szustakowski.  Will you please share with them what you told us about receiving the card and answer any of their questions."

Foley stood up to shake their hands and Benson sat in Gus's vacated chair while Jordan took the one next to him across from Foley.  Gus took his leave and said he would tell Ann where to go when she arrived.  They turned their attention to Foley and he leaned tiredly against the table.

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I just got off a double shift and closed my coffee shop.  I own it, The Daily Grind on Latimer?"

Benson and Jordan stared politely.  They hadn't ventured much farther than Nell's.

"Anyway.  I lost one of my managers when she went to college and I haven't found a replacement yet so I've been picking up a lot of the slack.  I would be willing to come in tomorrow, or today I guess, to answer your questions.  I'm just really out of it right now, you know?"

Benson let out a short, sharp laugh.  "Come back?  As in, go home?  I don't recommend that.  I think you need to remain in protective custody."

Foley stared.  And then blinked.  He looked back and forth between the two agents.

"For how long?"

"The foreseeable future."

Foley opened his mouth to protest, but Jordan interrupted, laying a calming hand on the table.

"Before we discuss any of that, can you please tell us when and where you received or found the note card?"

Brendan looked like he was about to stay on the subject of the future custody of his person, but then let out a short huff of air and sat back in his chair.

"I'm not sure exactly when it arrived.  I guess sometime between Tuesday and tonight.  I had been spending the last few days at my—at a friend's house because it's closer to the shop and I'm working so many hours.  I went home tonight and was sorting through the mail and found it mixed in with all the other junk mail and bills.

"Any envelope?" Jordan asked while Benson asked, "Is it a locked mailbox?"

Brendan looked between them again.  "No and no.  Just the card.  I have a mail slot on my door."

“Are there security cameras in your building?” Benson asked.

“It’s a row of townhouses actually, so, no I don’t think so.”

“We’ll check anyway.  Are your neighbors familiar with you and your frequent visitors?  Do you think they would notice if a stranger was hanging around?”

Brendan shrugged his shoulders.  “Probably not.  I only know the name of one of my neighbors.  And we have a shared parking lot with the townhomes across the street.  I wouldn’t be able to tell if one person walking around belonged there or not.  I mean, no one even looks up anymore.  Cell phones.”

Benson grunted softly and wrote something down on the notepad Gus had left behind.  Jordan looked Brendan over.  He didn’t seem terribly concerned with possibly being the next victim of a serial killer.

“Brendan,” Jordan said, “can you tell me if anything lately has seemed strange or unusual?  Does something stick out in your mind?”

Brendan’s eyes looked up as he thought, but he shook his head pretty quickly.  “No.  I mean.  It’s all been life as usual.  I’m really busy, but it’s all been normal.  The only thing that wasn’t was this card in the mail.  I didn’t even know it was something to do with the Angel Slayer.  My—friend is the one who heard about it on the news and insisted I come down to the station.”

“Your friend is a smart man,” Benson said.

Brendan didn’t seem impressed.

“So, nothing stands out at all?  Not even having just a moment of, ‘Huh, that’s odd.’  Nothing like that?”

“No, not really.”  Brendan cocked his head.  “Well, actually, the other day I did think it was odd that Gilbert Hannigan was in my coffee shop.”

“Why was that odd?”

Brendan hesitated and then said, “Because he hates fags.”  He sat back in his chair with a defiant expression.  He looked like he was waiting for Jordan or Benson to make some sort of negative reaction or comment.

“Have you had an altercation with him before?” Jordan asked.

“An altercation?  No, not exactly.  Last year he was a regular customer.  And he would talk to me sometimes at the register.  Then one morning he saw me kissing my boyfriend goodbye and he slammed his coffee down and said he wasn’t going to help me support my immoral, unnatural lifestyle.  And he never came back.  Until last week.  I didn’t say anything to him and I sent another barista to help him at the register.  I thought it was strange he came back after that speech, but the only Starbucks in town closed a couple months back.  I just figured he was desperate.  And his need for coffee outweighed his disgust for me.”

“And you served him?” Benson asked.

“Money is fickle.  Its opinions and views change depending on who’s holding it.”

Jordan let out a small laugh.  “I like that.  That’s true.”

Brendan gave him a small smile.  Then he leaned forward on the table, looking at them both intently.

“So, seriously, what’s up with this?  Is this card real?  Or just a hoax?  And what exactly do you mean by ‘protective custody.’”

“Brendan,” Benson started, “this isn't a criticism, but you seem to not be up to date on the latest news.  Are you aware of what the Angel Slayer does?”

“No, not the particulars, but I figure being dead is bad enough.  I mean, I’m just asking if you think the card is legit.  Why would he pick me?”

Jordan and Benson exchanged looks.  Jordan cleared his throat and answered because he was pretty certain Benson would tell him the truth.

“Honestly, the logic that happens in a serial killer’s brain is often times inscrutable to even psychiatrists who specialize in psychopathy.  It’s all about finding some small detail and twisting it to fit their needs.  Sometimes looks play a role in it, but all the victims so far have had all kinds of hair and eye colors, ethnicities, body types.  He doesn’t discriminate based on gender.”

“Equal opportunity killer, then.”

“It seems like.  That’s why we’ve been—” Jordan paused.  He didn’t want to reveal to a civilian that they were struggling with the case.  “—unsure of who might fit his target profile because he doesn’t have one.  When we discovered that he was warning his victims in advance, we knew this would be the opportunity we needed to get him.  He’s very dogged.  He will be determined to—come after you if he’s set his sights on you.  And if you’re under our protection, he won’t be able to get to you.  But that won’t prevent him from trying and that’s how we’ll get him.”

Brendan sat up straight.  “So, what, I’m bait?”

“No,” Benson stepped in quickly.  “Of course not.  You’re a target.  And we want to protect you.”

Brendan fidgeted.  “I get that.  But, I mean, are you serious?  Do you really think this is real?”

“We haven’t seen the card for ourselves yet,” Jordan said, “but the preliminary analysis is that it is very similar to the others.  We are performing an analysis on the handwriting and paper and the ink now to determine if it matches the others."

Benson added, “I know it feels surreal or unbelievable to hear that a serial killer is targeting you, but we take the threat seriously enough that we want to put a protective detail on you.  Or even keep you here.”

“At the station?  No way!  I’m not sleeping in a jail cell.  And I’ve got a business to run.”

“You wouldn’t be in a jail cell.  There are beds in the on call room and there’s a shower and gym here.  And we will send a police detail with you to work, and they will bring you here at night.”

Brendan chewed on his lip.  “I don’t know.  And I'd have to get some things from home.”

“Of course you can get some personal items,” said Jordan.

Brendan sighed.  “Alright.  And I know this is a stupid question, but, for how long?”

Jordan and Benson exchanged looks again.  Then Benson said, “Until we catch him.”

“Awesome.  So, any time from tomorrow to a decade from now.”

“He’s not getting away,” Benson said firmly.  “He doesn’t think it, but we are closing in on him.  He’s arrogant.  He thinks he can give the police a warning and still manage to get his kill in.  You’ll be safe with us and he’ll get caught.”

Brendan was looking a little more scared now, but his eyes were latched onto Benson’s face like he was his own personal savior.  Figures he would pick Benson.  Jordan tried to hide his smile at his own ridiculousness.  Since high school he had been obsessed with whether or not gay men found him attractive.  He knew there had to be some sort of term for this kind of bizarre insecurity.  It probably stemmed from when his best friend told him he was gay in the ninth grade and then quickly followed that up with, “Don’t worry, I’m not attracted to you.”  Jordan wondered if he’d be able to take back his decline on the RSVP he’d sent in response to his wedding invitation…if they caught the Angel Slayer this weekend, they might be home by next week.  The wedding was on…the 16th?

“Jordan.”

Jordan looked up and saw that Benson and Brendan were standing by the open interview room door.  Benson was giving him a look that said, _Are you seriously spacing out right now?_   He got to his feet.

“Yes,” he said trying to sound like he knew exactly what he was agreeing to.  He also noticed Russ was standing just out in the hall.

“Hi, Russ.”

“Agent Szustakowski.”

Jordan winced internally.  He should have called him Detective Little.

“So, you’re okay with the swing shift?” Benson asked.

“Yes.”

Jordan nodded his head and he could see laughter in Benson’s eyes.  Clearly he wasn’t buying Jordan’s bullshit.

“All right then.  Brendan, Detective Little will you escort you to the on call room and get you set up there.  And then I’ll drive you to your home to pack an overnight bag.  That way you can go home and get some sleep tonight, Russ.”

“Thanks, Benson.”  Russ smiled at him and then turned to Brendan, indicating a direction for him to walk with his hand.  Jordan wondered why Benson and Russ could call each by their first names in front of the…witness?  Victim?  Benson stepped back into the room and shut the door.  He smiled at Jordan.

“You have no clue what is going on, do you?”

“No.  Well, yes.  I’m guessing we all signed up for round the clock babysitting duty on Brendan and I got the swing shift?”

Benson laughed and walked to retrieve his notepad from the table.  “What were you thinking about?”

“Gay weddings.”

Benson opened his mouth, closed it.  And then said, “You know what?  I’m not going to ask.”

“So are you on the overnight if Russ is going home?”

“Yeah.”

“I can take that one if you want.”

“No I’m cool with it.”

“Yeah, but, I thought you and Oska liked ‘having dinner' together.”

Benson glanced around the room.  It was an interview room, so there was no two way mirror, but there could be recording equipment.  It shouldn’t be on, but he really needed to learn not to open his big mouth when they were in the police station.

“We _do_ eat dinner,” Benson said.  “And he’s switching to the nightshift starting tomorrow anyway.”

Jordan grinned.  “ _Really_.”

Benson realized his slip and blushed slightly.  “Shut-up, Jay.”

“Man, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

Benson sat down heavily in a chair.  He gnawed on his lower lip and kind of nodded.

Jordan sobered a little.  Oh.  He really did have it bad.  “What are you going to do when this is over?  It could be any day now.”

Benson shrugged.  Then he looked at his notepad.  “Anyway, at least we have a good guess as to why Brendan was picked.  My assumption is his crime will be sodomy or the like.”

“Would be, Benson.  It won’t happen.  We’ve got him.”

Benson nodded.  “You’re right, I’m sorry.  Thank you for correcting me.  Although...something is bothering me.  Hannigan, Hannigan...why do I know that name?"

"Um...oh!  Gilbert Hannigan.  He's the one who found Vanderpool's body.  And was having an affair with her."

"Two victim connections," Benson said, his eyes flashing back and forth as he thought.  "That can't be a coincidence."

"Well, there are only two places to get coffee to go in this town.  Half the population has been to Brendan's shop."

"Yeah, but how many of those openly spoke against the proprietor?"

Jordan strummed his fingers once on the table in thought.  "That's true.  But Hannigan had an alibi for Vanderpool."

"So?  We think there's two killers, don't we?"

Jordan conceded the point with a bob of his head.  "Yes, but as arrogant and brazen as these two are, would they draw that kind of attention to a connection with a victim?"

"Probably not.  Not the leader anyway.  But the follower, he could be an idiot."

"Would the Angel Slayer be willing to work with an idiot?"

Benson shrugged a shoulder.  "Stupid people are easier to control."

Jordan pretended to be examining a spot on the floor as he said, "Is that why Oska leads you around by the nose?"

"You shut your mouth, Szustakowski, or I will tell Nic how much you love a Brazilian on a woman."

"Benson!"

"Shit.  What are we doing sitting here?  We need to look at the card and get the name so we can look up when to expect the kill.”

“Should be a day and no hour.”

“Think so?”

Jordan shrugged.  “It has consistently switched back and forth for all the victims.  Always more precise with the females, less with the males.”

“Good point.  But do you think he also kidnaps on the day indicated on the card, or only kills them on the day.”

“I think the latter.  None of the victims were ever missing for over a week.  So…only the kill happened on the right day.”

“That’s true.  It does leave a large window for the snatching to occur though.”

“Well, we’ve got Brendan safe here with us, so unless he can figure out how to access this building without drawing suspicion—he’s got no choice but to make a dumb move and get caught."

“Unless he waits us out.  We can’t keep Brendan under twenty-four hour surveillance forever.”

“True.”

Benson made a disgusted a face.  “I hate this fucker.  Alright, never mind that for now.  Let’s go see this angel name.”

 

**Sunday, November 10, 2013**

Benson stood looking outwardly patient even though internally he was just about done stapling Brendan's Foley's lips together.  He understood the kid was probably transferring his fear of being targeted by the Angel Slayer (which he was now aware that he definitely was and had a better idea of what the sadist did to his victims) into anxiety for his shop, but if Benson had to hear one more time how sensitive the espresso machine was and how Brendan was the only person who could properly start it up, he was certain he would blow a fuse.

"Morning!" Russ chirped as he popped his head in the on call room door, effectively getting Brendan to stop talking—temporarily.

Benson had never been so relieved to see someone in his life.  Russ ducked away and Benson faced Brendan and patted him on the shoulder, encouraging his lapse into silence.

"Detective Little is here now.  He'll make arrangements for you to get a police escort to your shop if he feels it's safe.  There are a lot of factors to consider though.  Officer availability, the layout of the building—"

"I know, you told me," Brendan griped.  "But—"

"Detective Little will take care of you," Benson cut him off with another pat to his shoulder.  He walked out of the on call room before Brendan could tell him again how important it was for an owner to manage his business personally.

He found Russ in the kitchenette smearing cream cheese onto a bagel.  The detective gave Benson a displeased look as he came in the room.

"Are you really considering letting him out of here?"

"Of course not," Benson replied.  "But I figured I would let you play bad cop."

He grinned at him and Russ threw a wadded up napkin at him.

"Screw you, Remick."

"Some other time, Little.  I'm whipped."

Russ quirked an eyebrow.  "If you're into that sort of thing."

He gave him a mild smile that made Benson feel unease as Russ' even stare stayed on him.  For some reason he suddenly felt naked, exposed.  He nodded at Russ and nearly ran into the doorjamb as he exited the room.  He crossed the bullpen and wondered if Oska was right about Russ having a thing for him.  But it hadn't felt like it was sexual interest.  Not exactly.

He immediately forgot the feeling as he noticed the door to the FBI office was open.  Jordan he knew was at the motel getting a few more hours of sleep before he came in around noon.  He wondered if Ann had come in or maybe if he'd left the door unlocked.  But even if he had, he knew he had shut the door the last time he'd left the room.

Inside he found Oska standing in front of the third whiteboard.  It contained a picture of Brendan Foley with the words, "Chariel: Monday" written above it.  Underneath the picture they had written the word potato and a question mark, which was their code for homosexuality since potato was the first word Jordan had thought of for some reason.  But Oska wasn't looking at that.  He was reading the mini profile of the Angel Slayer they had compiled at the other end of the board.

"Oska," Benson said softly, "you shouldn't be in here."

Oska didn't react.  Either he had heard Benson come in or he was so focused on the red colored words that he couldn't be bothered.

"This is interesting," Oska said.  "White male, thirties, Elton native, college educated, working knowledge of police procedures and basic knowledge of forensics, arrogance, contempt of general populace, easily irritated but extreme control of outward expressions and actions, skill in woodworking,  job that explains out of town trips or prolonged absences, self-righteous, intelligent, possible OCD tendencies."  Oska turned to look at Benson.  "That sounds a lot like me."

"It sounds like ninety-five percent of all serial killers.  And even I fit a lot of those characteristics.  Oska, you shouldn't be in here."

"I know.  I was looking for you and the door was open.  I saw it and couldn't help myself."

Benson frowned at him.  There really was no harm done reading the profile: it was almost useless and the two killer theory was still floating in the ether and not written down anywhere yet.  But all the other officers knew they were not permitted into FBI space unless they were expressly invited inside.  And certainly not someone who was as close to the case as Oska was.

Oska took in Benson's frown and apologized.  "It's hard to do nothing, Benson.  It's my sister.  And I'm a police officer.  I hate sitting back and doing nothing."

Benson relaxed his features.  "I know."  He reached out and gave his hand a brief squeeze before dropping it.  "But, you need to git."

Oska gave him a small smile.  "Consider me gone."  As they walked out of the office he asked, "You're off duty now, right?"

"Yes, but I was going to stay for a few more hours and work on something.  Why?"

"Oh.  I was just wondering if you wanted to get breakfast."

"I thought breakfast was the one meal you refused to cook."

"Oh, I won't.  I was going over to Nell's."

"Ah, I see.  You sure know how to tempt a man, Officer Mercer."

Oska went a little rigid and dropped his eyes to the floor.

"I was just referring to the allure of Nell's," Benson murmured softly as he shut and locked the office door.

"I–I know," Oska stammered quietly.

"Did you?"

"Shut-up.  Do you want to go or not?"

"What about Bunny?"

"I left her at home last night because I needed to do some paperwork catch up."

"I see."

"And after breakfast I can drive you back to the motel."

Benson hesitated even though all he wanted to do was say yes.  But he should stay in the office and review the traffic camera feed taken two blocks from Foley's neighborhood.  There were a multitude of paths that didn't lead to Foley's home from that intersection, but it was possible something would stand out and help connect two seemingly unrelated clues.  Benson gnawed on his lip and ran his fingers over the knob of the office door.  He did have to watch Brendan again tonight, so he couldn't stay in the office all day and not get any sleep.  And he could always watch the footage tonight while Brendan slept.

Oska could see Benson's resolve crumbling and casually threw out, "Since I left Bunny at home I drove the Charger."

"Let's go," Benson said.

Oska smiled and brushed past him a little closer than the space around them dictated was necessary.

"I need to swing by my desk first.  Be right back."

Benson groaned inwardly.  Oska was such a distraction.  And he could not afford distractions with a case of this magnitude on the line.  But he couldn't turn down a chance to spend time with Oska.  Well, he could, but he didn't want to.  He knew his feelings for the officer were approaching dangerous territory, and their constant talk about keeping things impersonal was a joke.  Benson suspected Oska was probably holding himself back better than he, but honestly, Benson wasn't even trying anymore.

"God, I don't think I'll ever be able to drink an espresso again."

Benson turned and saw Russ looking supremely annoyed as he stroked his trim beard with a hand.  He laughed at the detective's expression.

"Is he still going on about that machine?"

"When I told him he had to stay here he immediately called his employee and began walking him step by step on how to turn the machine on.  I think it boiled down to pushing the power button."

Benson smirked.  "I do not envy you having him during his waking hours."

"Ass."

Benson caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned toward Oska as he approached them.

"You ready?" Oska asked.

"Yeah, I have everything."

Russ was giving them a strange look.  Right.  Everyone thought they were still not on the best terms.  Benson shifted his weight and awkwardly put a hand out toward Oska.

"Oska also worked the overnight shift last night, and Jordan has our car, so he volunteered, very kindly I might add, to drop me back off at the motel."

Benson wondered if that sounded rehearsed even though it wasn't.

"Gus also hasn't relieved me of chauffeur duty yet," Oska added dryly.

Benson chuckled.  "Good thing I don't mind getting help from someone who was volun-told to help me."

"Not that it should be like that," Russ said, giving Oska a hard look.  "Benson has earned his place here."

Oska turned to face Russ fully.  "Has he?"

Russ tensed.

"I never said he hadn't.  I acknowledge Agent Remick has done a lot of work here.  I'm doing my best to mend fences with him.  Do you have a problem with that?"

Benson watched as Russ and Oska stared each other down.  He felt a little like...he was being fought over?  Maybe Oska was even farther away from the impersonal fuck buddy zone than he was.

"Well," Benson said, breaking up the staring match, "part of that fence mending involves breakfast and I'm starving.  Russ, good luck with Brendan.  Oska, are we walking or driving to Nell's?"

Oska looked away from Russ.  "Drive.  I get the blue plate special when I get breakfast there and walking is generally not an option afterwards."

Benson saw Russ force a smile.  "That's true.  It is a dangerous amount of food."

Oska nodded back, acknowledging Russ' attempt to smooth things over.  "It's why I can only visit Nell's for lunch."

"What is the blue plate special?" Benson asked.  "That's not on the menu."

Russ grinned.  "There's a secret menu only for those in the know."

Benson frowned.  "How does one get in the know?"

Oska patted his shoulder.  "You just did.  Let's go."

Benson gave a smile and a nod to Russ and followed Oska out of the bullpen.  As the officer opened the external door of the station, he looked back over his shoulder.  The blue of his uniform made his eyes bluer by comparison.  The weak autumn morning sun haloed the back of his head and blocked all else from Benson's vision but this beautiful, snarky, reserved, slightly insane man.

Benson felt a moment of pure terror—until he realized it wasn't fear he was feeling.  He wasn't afraid at all.

He was so fucked.

 

Benson picked up another piece of bacon from the "meat platter" and surveyed the seven plates piled high with food.  They'd been working on one order of the blue plate special for over half an hour now and had barely made a dent in it.  Oska was using his fork to scoop up some oatmeal and then speared some scrambled eggs.  Benson made a face as he put the combination in his mouth.

"Don't knock it until you try it," Oska said around the food.

"I didn't say anything."  Benson took a bite of the extra crispy bacon and crunched on it.  "Hey, Oska?"

"Yeah?"

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you for a while now."

Oska swallowed uncomfortably.  "Yeah...?"

"What is up with that house?"

Oska tried to cover his relief with a laugh.  What had he been expecting?  For Benson to declare his love and ask for Oska's exchange of faithful vow?  Not that he had any love to confess or anything.  Right?  _Shit_.

"It's my parents' house.  Or, was.  My mom and dad had differing opinions on interior design, so they claimed rooms in the house and did what they wanted.  The result, as you've seen, is a nightmare.  It makes trying to sell the place nearly impossible."

"So...that's not the house you lived in with..."

"My ex-wife?  No.  I sold that house during the divorce and we split the money.  My parents offered to let me stay with them until I found a new place.  But I could never find a place I liked.  Or maybe I was just lazy.  So, I just stayed with my parents."

"No wonder you couldn't get laid for four years."

Oska smiled and threw a hash brown cube at him.  "Shut it."

Benson cut another triangle from the massive stack of pancakes on the "breads platter."  He looked at Oska before he put the bite in his mouth and said, "Do I need to ask?"

Oska inhaled and then exhaled slowly, but it wasn't exactly a sigh.

"They died in a car accident in February.  Hit some black ice and went off the road.  Natalia came home for the arrangements and to get away from the stress of her divorce.  That's what I thought the casket receipt was for at first, but she ordered it several months after they were already in the ground."

Oska ran his fingers through the condensation on his water glass.  His eyes stared unseeing at the floating ovals of ice inside it.  Benson felt a cold pressure squeezing his chest.  Oska had lost his parents and his sister in less than a year.  Benson knew he wouldn't be so well put together if he had lost so much at once.  But then he realized Oska _wasn't_ holding it together very well at all.  He didn't know Oska's hours exactly, but it hadn't been hard to figure out he was doing a lot of overtime.  He was still quick to respond with bitterness and anger when anything reminded him of the Angel Slayer.  He had started having unprotected, casual sex with a virtual stranger after over four years of celibacy and self-control.  Yeah, he was a paragon of mental health.

"I'm the one that convinced her to move back here," Oska said dully.  "With our parents gone, both of us divorced, I told her we should be near each other.  I got her the interview with the school board."  He took in a shaky breath.  "If I hadn't...if...she would still be safe in Arizona."

Without thinking Benson reached across the table and took Oska's hand in his.

"Hey.  You can't think like that.  What happened to your sister is in no way your fault."

"I know," Oska said softly.

"Do you?" he questioned, squeezing his hand.

Oska looked up and met his eyes.  Then his thumb brushed across the back of Benson's hand.  For another few moments they held each other's gaze and kept the connection between them tangible as they turned their hands palm to palm.  Then someone cleared their throat and they blinked and snatched their hands apart.  They looked up and saw Allegria standing at their table.  She had her eyes averted, a faint blush on her cheeks, and a smile tugging at her lips.

"I came to see if you needed anything, but I guess you just want the check, huh?"

"You can just put it on today's tab,” Benson replied.  “Thanks, Allegria."

"No, I was treating you," Oska said.

"Oska, I'm not paying for it.  The federal government is."

"So, in a way, I am paying for it since I pay taxes."

"Good point."

"I'm not!" Allegria laughed.  "I never report my cash tips."

She smiled at the police officer and the FBI agent.  Then she stopped smiling.

"I never said that.  I'll go get you some take away boxes."

She turned and walked away.  Benson smiled as he watched her leave.  She still did have nice legs.  Then he looked back at Oska.

"Think that's true?"

"I think that's hardly the worst thing she's done."

Benson smiled.  He took a moment to examine Oska's face.  He was smiling too, but sorrow and guilt still haunted his eyes.  Benson realized that that look had always been there; he just hadn't known what it was until now.  He could also tell that Oska was done being vulnerable for the day and if he tried to reinitiate their interrupted conversation he would be walking to the motel.  He searched his brain, looking for a topic of conversation that Oska wouldn't interpret as too personal.  Fortunately Allegria arrived and saved him from blurting out something stupid.

"I put it on your tab, Benson.  Here's some boxes.  Take this all with you.  If Nell sees food come back on blue plate special orders, she forbids anyone from ordering it again for another six months."

"Is that true?"

Both Allegria and Oska nodded.  Allegria left them and Benson and Oska began to fill the boxes with the leftover food.  The quiet between them wasn't tense or awkward, but Benson did finally think of something to say.

"Hey, Oz."

"Yes, Ben."

"You said...that night we first...um...the night we picked up the books from the library in Rochester..."

Oska closed the lid on one of the boxes and gave Benson a smug smile.  "I have a pretty strong recollection of that night."

"Right.  Um.  You said that you'd known I'd wanted to...um...well.  Since the moment I first laid eyes on you here.  And it was true, so I didn't refute it.  But, how did you know?  You saw me for all of two seconds as you walked out the door."

Oska laughed and stacked their Styrofoam boxes together.  He slid out of the booth and indicated for Benson to follow him.  He walked over to the part of the counter he had been leaning on the first day Benson and Jordan had eaten at Nell's.  In a corner of the diner was a mirror that the staff used to see around the blind turn that led to the kitchen.  From the counter it showed the row of booths lining the front windows, one of which was the booth he and Jordan had been sitting in.  From where he'd been leaning that day, Oska would have had a clear view of Benson...staring at his ass.

Benson cleared his throat and turned to walk out the door.  Oska followed, chuckling softly.

"I'm now really surprised you didn't deck me when we met in the police station," Benson muttered as he took the to-go boxes from Oska and opened the passenger side door of the Charger.

Oska slid into the driver's side and replied, "Well, honestly, by that point I'd kind of forgotten it.  And I also didn't want to admit to myself that the first thing I thought when I noticed you were checking me out was, 'I wonder if he's free tonight.'  So, I blocked the memory."

Benson smiled at him.  "Hot for me from day one, huh?"

Oska pulled out onto Main Street and said, "Desperate for a distraction anyway."

Benson felt that sharp stabbing pain in his chest again.  His stomach churned with nausea as the heavy breakfast soured in it.  He set the boxes of food down on the floor to get the smell away from him.  He closed his eyes and hated himself for what he'd done to Oska.  Because he couldn't respect Oska as a human being or leave the victim of a brutal crime alone, he'd given him all the distraction he needed.

"Jesus, Benson, I'm so sorry," Oska said quickly.  "I didn't mean for that to come out the way it did.  Please...don't...don't take it that way.  I—you're not a distraction.  You're not some way for me to punish myself or something if that's what you're thinking.  You're—the best fucking thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Benson turned his head slowly to look at Oska.  He was gripping the wheel tightly with both hands and his eyes were intently fixed on the road.  They turned onto Pine.  Benson kept staring.  Oska glanced at him, and then did a double take.

"What?" he asked defensively.

Benson smiled and looked away.  "Nothing."

"You are going to throw that back at me at some point, aren't you?"

"Don't worry.  I'll save it for a special occasion."

Oska laughed softly.  "Fuck you, Remick."

"Hey, Oz."

"Yeah."

"Let's not go to the motel right away."

"Okay."

Oska passed the turn onto King and kept driving.  They drove a little ways out of town and passed into a light wood.  Then Oska made a turn onto what barely passed as a road with only two wheel ruts indicating cars had traveled here before.  Benson winced every time he heard a rock or stick kick up against the car, but he didn't comment.  Then the path split into several paths where the trees lined the "road" very closely.  One was so bad that Benson did break his silence to tell Oska that if he let those branches scratch the car he wouldn't blow him for a month.  Oska took the clearest path, the one straight ahead, and after another couple minutes of driving, they arrived at the end of the woods.  Oska stopped at the tree line and Benson could see Lake Winnipesaukee in front of them.

Oska turned off the car and cracked the window on his side.  Cold air trickled in, but it wasn't unpleasant.  Benson looked out over the lake.  It was dark colored and just a little ominous, but the sun was bright so it made the surface glitter.  Then he looked around the place they were parked.  It was fairly open up by the lake, but the trees were dense about a hundred yards back from the shore where they were parked.  There were several pathways leading to the area, and trees partially shielded the ends of these paths from each other.  In fact, he could just make out the flash of sunlight on another car about three spokes away through the dense line of trees; it was impossible to see anybody in the car though.  Benson laughed.

“Oh my god, is this the local teen ‘hang out’ spot?”

Oska strummed his fingers on the bottom of the steering wheel.  “It might be.”

He laughed again.  “I guess you had to learn about it when you were stuck on Buzz Kill duty during your early years on the force?”

Oska smiled.  “I knew about this place long before I joined the police.”

Benson gasped in faux-shock.  “Oska Mercer, did you bring me to your teenage make out spot?”

“No,” he said in a tone that clearly meant “yes.”

Benson smiled as he looked out at the lake again.  And then he shrugged his lips, whipped off his seatbelt, and pulled on the mechanism that got his seat to slide all the way back.

“Okay,” he said.  “I can take a hint.”  He spread his legs and patted his thighs, inviting Oska over.

“What!” Oska looked at him with huge blue eyes.  “Don’t be stupid, Benson.”

“I’m not.  C’mere.”

“No way.”

Benson leaned his head back against the head rest and just stared at Oska.  And then he licked his lips.

“Fuck you, Remick,” Oska muttered as he unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled into Benson’s lap.

Benson grabbed his face and kissed him immediately, not even waiting for Oska to get himself situated.  By the time he was sitting squarely and comfortably in his lap, Benson’s tongue was fucking the hell out of his mouth.  Oska hummed and rocked his hips.

“Fuck, yes,” Oska whispered, rocking harder and sliding his hands through Benson’s hair.

Benson moved his hands to Oska’s back and spread his fingers over the rough cotton of his uniform shirt.  He claimed Oska’s lips again and ran one hand up the back of his neck into his hair to hold him in place.  As hot as listening to Oska swear in the throes of passion was, he wanted those lips on him, that tongue playing with his, the heat and wetness of his mouth panting into his.

Benson let out a noise of surprise that Oska swallowed neatly when he felt the cop’s hands on his belt.  He didn’t think Oska would be the one to initiate more, but apparently once he got past his preliminary reservations he was up for anything.  They continued to kiss, sloppy, lingering smacks, as they both worked the other’s belt off and got their flies open.  Benson leaned forward and kissed and bit Oska’s jaw while he was distracted with pulling their cocks out of their underwear.  Benson groaned when he felt Oska’s hand on him, trying, with some difficulty, to circle both of their above average in size penises.  Benson helped him out by grabbing the other side with his hand.  They let out low moans and quiet gasps of appreciation as they felt their hands working their erections in tandem—relishing the ecstasy of the countermotion on either side of their trapped flesh.

Benson forced Oska’s face back to him and kissed him deeply.  Oska leaned into it, swiping his thumb across their cockheads to smear the precome down their shafts.  Benson got a hold of Oska’s upper lip and sucked on it before going for the bottom lip.  Oska retaliated by rubbing Benson’s nipple through his shirts mercilessly.  He kept it up until Benson had to let go of Oska’s lips and cry uncle.  Oska worked his hand on their cocks, rolled his thumb around (a little more gently) on Benson’s nipple, and kissed him in an endless string of bites and licks that were barely kisses at all.

“Jesus Christ, Benson.”  Kiss.  “I have never, mmm…” he went in for a long kiss and tongue fuck.  “Wanted anyone the way I want you.”

Benson smiled and met Oska’s tongue with his in a playful duel outside their mouths.  “How about that?  Number one—” They kissed greedily.  “On a list of four.”

“Fuck you, Remick.”  Oska’s hand pumped faster and Benson’s followed suit.  “Where do I rank on your list of ‘less than twenty?’”

Benson pulled him in and kissed him hungrily, again holding the back of his head with a hand so he couldn’t even think about pulling away before Benson was satisfied.  Benson still wasn’t ready when he let him go, but they did need air.  He looked Oska in the eyes and rubbed his thumb along the glans of Oska’s cock.  Oska’s mouth dropped open and his eyes slid partway shut.

“You’re not even on the list, baby.  I had to make a brand new one just for you.”

Oska closed his mouth and opened his eyes.  He looked at Benson for a long moment, rolling their balls together while his hand increased the pace even more.

“That was so cheesy.”

Benson grinned.  “Yeah,” he agreed.

“Stop it, Remick.  I mean it.”

“Okay.”

He pulled Oska back down for another kiss, and Oska went at him like he was desperate to have him.  And Benson didn’t think it was because they were both close to the edge.

Their hands worked faster and Oska pulled back with a reluctant groan.  “Wait, we need to find something.  I can’t get this uniform dirty.”

“Why not?” Benson asked indignantly and licked the underside of his chin.

“Because.  I only have three—heee—fuck, baby, easy!  Oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m right fucking there!”

Benson sat back and stared in utter amazement at the sheer beauty of Oska Mercer falling apart in front of his eyes.  He did at least angle their dicks so that their bursts of come drenched his thin dress shirt and soaked into his undershirt.

Oska groaned anew with each gentle stroke of their hands and roll of his hips.  It was a good long while before their motions stilled.  Benson raised his hand to his lips and sucked off a bit of come from the heel of his hand.  He had no idea whose it was.  Oska looked down at Benson’s shirt like he was mesmerized.

“I have no idea why seeing you covered in my jizz is such a huge fucking turn on,” he muttered.

“Evolutionary hold over.  You’re claiming a mate.”

“Hnn.  I don’t know about that.  But, at least it is all on you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome by the way.  And if you have three, why can’t this one get a little dirty,” he said as he plucked at a sleeve.

“Because you already got one dirty a couple nights ago as you may or may not recall.”

“Oh, yeah,” Benson mused, a smile curling his lips at the memory.  “Well, at least we matched my erotic asphyxia kink with your role play kink.”

“I do _not_ have a role play kink.”

Benson gave Oska a look that made him blush, so he didn’t argue the point.

"Still not as weird as yours though," he muttered indignantly and buried his face in Benson's neck.

"Careful.  You'll get your uniform dirty."

Oska sat up with a pout.  "Take it off then."

Benson ran his hand through Oska's hair.  "I would.  But you should probably take me back to the motel.  We both have to work tonight and I need to call Ann before I go to sleep.  And—"

Benson stopped talking when Oska kissed him.  It wasn't heated or lustful, but pleasant and almost friendly.  Like they were long time lovers who had all the time in world for other things and for now just wanted to enjoy the presence of each other.  Benson put his hands on Oska's stomach to keep him from leaning too far in and brushing up against Benson's wet shirt, but he kissed him with the thought in mind that Oska was going to have to be the one to pull away.  Oska must have had the same idea because Benson lost all sense of time.  Their lips became numb with the near abuse they were putting them through.  And even though the kisses were slow and easy they had gone on so long they were gasping for air.  Benson's resolve failed and he pulled back and leaned his head against the seat.  Oska chased after him and pressed their lips together.

"Don't stop, don't stop," he panted and wrapped his arms around Benson's neck.  "Don't stop."

Benson couldn't respond when Oska slipped his tongue in his mouth.  All he could do was lean back and take it.  He was willing to be a distraction for Oska if that's what he needed.  It hurt, to be sure, but he knew Oska was a grown man who could make his own decisions.  He wasn't worried that he was taking advantage of him or using him anymore, but he did yearn to be more than just something that allowed Oska to stop thinking about his grief filled life for an hour or two.

Oska moaned into his mouth and whispered against his lips, "Fuck me, you feel so good."

Benson felt like he had no strength when he gripped Oska's arm in his hand.  He couldn't speak, so he didn't try.

"I mean it," Oska gasped, "Fuck me.  Right now.  I want you in me."

Benson sucked in air around Oska's lips as best he could—the man wouldn't let up at all.  Benson felt weak and dizzy and he didn't know why but tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.  Oska took his face in his hands and kissed the teardrops away—and Benson found that he was sobbing.

"I'm sorry," Oska said.  "I'm sorry.  Are you okay?  What did I do?"

Benson felt embarrassed and brutally forced his breathing back under control and his tears to stop.  He shook his head and tried to look away from Oska, but he held him still.

"I'm sorry," Benson said and was mortified to hear his voice thick with tears.  "I'm just so sorry that you hurt this much."

Oska sat back like he'd been slapped.  "I told you I'm not using you like that."

Benson stared at his collar and wouldn't meet his eyes.  "We both know that's not entirely true."

Oska let his hands drop to his lap.  He put his limp penis back into his pants and then clinically did the same for Benson before sliding back into the driver's seat.  They sat in silence for a long time.  The cold November air filled the car and chilled them both, but still they sat.  At last, Oska rolled up the window and started the car.  He pulled forward to turn around and then drove back down the path.

The drive back to the motel was only fifteen minutes, but it was one of the worst experiences of Benson's life.  He knew this was the end of everything.  It was for the best that it was because he had reached the point where the thought had crossed his mind about asking Ann if working at the Portsmouth RA was really so bad.  Oska pulled into the motel parking lot and parked on the side of the building closest to Benson's room, but that was also not visible from the main road.  He turned off the car, so Benson wasn't sure if he should get out or not.  Clearly Oska wasn't intending on just driving away as soon as he dropped him off.  But, Benson didn't have anything to say that would help the situation, so he stayed quiet.

"Benson.  You're not wrong.  I do use you to make the world go away for a little while.  And that's not fair to you.  But, you should know that _you_ can make me forget everything.  You're not just a warm body.  You're fucking _you_ , okay?"

Benson glanced at Oska.  He was twisting his hands on the steering wheel and staring out the windshield.  Then he whipped his head around and Benson started slightly as they were forced to make eye contact.

"And I'm so sorry, Benson, but I'm going to be selfish.  And I'm going to ask you to—not walk away from me right now.  I need you.  And the circumstances suck.  But.  I can't think beyond Bunny's next walk right now.  I know I'm barely hanging onto my sanity by a thread here, but you're like—a rope—that I can grab onto and if I really need it, tie it around my waist—and if you don't stop me from making one more ridiculous analogy—"

Benson was surprised into a laugh and placed his fingers on Oska's lips to stop whatever he was going to say next.  Then he turned his hand and curled his fingers around his jaw so he could brush his thumb over Oska's very chapped lips.

"I don't want to stop either, but I do have to ask one thing of you."

Oska nodded.

"This thing can stay impersonal if you need it to, but please stop reminding me of that."

Oska's brow furrowed a little, but not like he was angry or displeased—perhaps curious.  But he nodded slowly in acquiescence.  He pressed a kiss to Benson's thumb and then raised his hand to take Benson's.  He pulled it away from his face and into his lap where he used his other hand to play with Benson's fingers.

"I know it's getting late, but I meant what I said at the lake.  I need you now.  I need to feel connected to someone—no, not someone, _you_.  So, please, I'm begging you: invite me inside, take me to your bed, and—"

He cut off abruptly and focused on Benson's hand.  Benson figured he had not finished the thought because while attempting to prove to someone that they were more than just a warm body telling them "fuck me" might be a little crass.  Though there was a masochistic part of Benson's brain that wondered if he'd stopped himself from saying, "make love to me."

"Come inside, Oska.  It's about time Jordan woke up anyway."

Oska let out a bark of laughter.  And then he looked up and saw the actual glee in Benson's eyes at the thought of making Jordan wake up yet again with his "O-shout" as Jordan called it.  He laughed again for real and Benson felt happy knowing he'd managed to brighten Oska's day with something other than sex.  Well, sort of.

"I would love to rattle the headboard with you and make Jordan rue the day he ever complained about all the pretty noises you make."

"Oh, Jesus," Benson muttered and pulled his hand away from Oska as he opened the car door and stepped out.  He reached back inside and picked up the Styrofoam containers that had miraculously survived their impromptu sex romp with only one corner getting crushed in a bit.

"I'm keeping all the food," Benson announced as he rounded the corner of the building to walk toward his room door.

"Where are you going to keep it?  You don't have a mini fridge in there, do you?"

"No.  But it'll keep until this afternoon when I'll be ready to eat again.  Heck, I'll probably be hungry again after I'm through with you."

"Mm, that sounds promising."

Benson looked over his shoulder to smile at him as he unlocked the door to his motel room.  Oska walked inside and Benson looked out at the street when he heard a squeal of tires.  A blur of silver flashed at the intersection before disappearing behind a building that sat closer to the road.  He might have wondered about the erratic driver, but he had more pressing matters on his mind.  He shut the door behind him.

 

**Tuesday, November 12, 2013**

 

Jordan walked into the station ready for another day of playing cards with Brendan and was immediately concerned when he heard raised voices coming from the on call room.  He carefully approached the room, getting closer to the wall so he wouldn’t be visible from the door right away.  He wasn’t being a coward, or an eavesdropper, he was investigating.  Yeah, investigating.  He could recognize both Russ’ and Ann’s voices, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying since they kept talking over each other.  He peeked around the door and saw Russ practically cornered by Ann.  Her eyes were bright and her face was terrifying in its rage—and it made her look beautiful.  Jordan swallowed and knew he’d never want that look directed at him.  Based on what he was hearing though, the argument didn’t sound productive, so Jordan decided to insert himself.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Jordan asked as he stepped into the room.  Russ and Ann were the only two people in it.  The spot Brendan had been camping out in looked suspiciously empty.

“Russ sent Brendan home,” Ann said.

“What?!”

“I did not at all, Agent Russo!”

Ann sucked in a breath at the formal address and faced Russ.  “Then what happened?”

“I’m trying to tell you.  Brendan made the decision to leave.  I told him no.  He threatened to file a complaint against us and was citing false imprisonment.  We can’t hold someone against their will!”

“But, he still believes us, right?  Why would he choose to leave our protection?” Jordan asked, utterly confused.

“Russ told him he didn’t need to worry unless it was a Monday,” Ann said with an angry glare.

“I did not!  And I organized an escort and a surveillance duty as soon as I could.  They followed him home.  Or at least, have gone to his home and are watching the townhouse.  His car is still in the parking lot.”

“Wait, I don’t understand, why did he know about the Monday time frame?”

Ann crossed her arms and didn’t say anything, but she did an arch an eyebrow at Russ.  He sighed in a defeated manner and leaned on the metal bar at the head of one of the beds.  He rubbed his forehead with a hand.

“It is my fault,” he said, his voice breaking with stress.  “We were just talking.  And he asked me why the killer is called the Angel Slayer.  And I didn’t even tell him about carving the names on the victims.  Just the names on the calling cards.  And he wondered if the names meant anything specific or if they were random.  And I did tell him we had a theory about it.  But I didn’t tell him what, but he kept asking and he kept looking it up on his phone and the things he found on the Internet were worse than what it really is, so I just told him it meant the timing of the murder.  He asked what his meant and I didn’t think there would be any harm in just saying Monday.  I tried to explain to him that that doesn’t mean that’s the only day he isn’t safe, but he just said that since Monday was past he needed to leave the station and go home for a couple of days, and then he would come back before next Monday.  I—Jordan, I did everything I could short of handcuff the kid to a bed.”

“You should have handcuffed him,” Ann muttered.

“I told you!  We have no right to force him to stay.  Free country we’re all so proud of and all that.  What was I really supposed to do?  I couldn’t give out details of the case.  But I did tell him that he was at the most risk when it wasn’t Monday.  But that didn’t seem to get through to him.”

“But, there’s an officer on him now, right?”

“Yes, they’re watching his home.”

“Does Benson know yet?”

“No.  He only left a couple of hours ago.  I was hoping he just wanted to shower in his own bathroom and get a change of clothes and would come back.”

“We should notify Benson now,” Ann said.

“He will have just gotten into bed,” Jordan pointed out.

“So?  If Brendan doesn’t come back he won’t have to watch him tonight anyway.”

“Good point.  But if I call him and he can’t get here he’s going to be pissed.  I’ll just drive back to the motel and get him.”

“No,” Russ said, “let me go.  I’m the one who lost Brendan, so I should be the one to tell him what happened in person.  I’ll pick him up and ask if he wants to come back here or go straight to Brendan’s.”

“Okay,” Jordan said.  “Um, knock hard and tell him who you are.  He’s a really heavy sleeper.”

“Alright, hopefully we’ll be back with Brendan.”

Jordan watched him leave and really hoped that Benson was in fact at the motel and not at Oska’s, and that if Oska was with him at the motel, Russ’ knocking and announcing his presence would give them enough time to get Oska hidden in the bathroom.  Not that they deserved any help from him after the stunt they pulled on Sunday morning.  It was bad enough to have to listen to a coworker have sex through very thin walls, but how was he supposed to function when those sounds had—well—they’d sort of—he’d felt—a little bit—arou—

“Jordan.”

“Yeah?” Jordan whipped around toward Ann, forever grateful to her for disrupting that line of thought.

“Do you think I was too harsh?” she asked, fidgeting slightly.  “I really laid into Russ, but he’s right.  If Brendan wanted to leave there’s no way we could have stopped him.  Short of doing something illegal I mean.  I hope I didn’t damage our working relationship.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure Russ understands.  It’s a tense situation.  He seemed really upset with himself as well and you were just pointing out what he already was thinking.  I think he was trying to convince himself more than you.  Poor guy.”

Ann frowned at him.  “I wasn’t _that_ mean to him.”

Jordan laughed softly.  “Not you.  Well, kind of you.  But I’m curious how badly Benson is going to take this.  You’ll notice I didn’t argue with him having to be the one to break the news to him.”

Ann made a sympathetic face.  “Yeah, I can’t imagine how that conversation is going to go.”

Jordan turned to leave the on call room and Ann followed him.  They picked up some coffee in the break room and took it with them to their office.  Jordan asked Ann for any new information she’d gotten from Nic or the forensics team lately, though Jordan’s private conversations with Dr. Reading generally kept him up to date on what was happening.  Ann only added that more tips and leads had come in regarding note cards, but all had been ruled out as legitimate possibilities.

Jordan opened his laptop and began going through the timeline he’d made in Excel again.  After talking with Benson, he was itching to ask Gilbert Hannigan some more questions regarding his whereabouts of the other murders.  Especially after they’d realized that Hannigan fit the physical description of the person who left the boot print in the woods at the Hernandez crime scene.  They had asked for Hannigan’s full schedule for the past three months from his employer, even though asking for anything beyond the Vanderpool time frame without a warrant may have been slightly on the illegal side.  But it had also proven that he’d had an alibi for a good part of Thompson’s disappearance, and could not have been present at Mueller’s death as he had been on an emergency call fixing someone’s heat.

Jordan’s head snapped up as Ann cursed when she tried to keep her coffee from spilling all over her desk.  Jordan took out some leftover napkins from a Nell’s take away dinner in a desk drawer and handed them over to her.

“Thanks,” she said, sounding embarrassed and weary.  Maybe he and Benson should find her someone to have a little TDY fun with—it seemed to be helping relieve some of the daily stress and tension he and Benson were dealing with.  At least, he had noticed a change in Benson’s enthusiasm levels when he’d started getting regular action from a certain K9 cop.  And he himself had been able to focus on the case better when he was given the opportunity to check out for a couple of hours with Nic.  He wondered who would be good for her?  Russ would be too weird since they worked on the case together.  Gus was married.  Who else did they know?  Maybe they should have made more of an effort to get to know the people they’d been seeing everyday for the past two months.

“I’m sorry, I’m spazzing out,” Ann said.  “I just—it feels wrong for Brendan to be out there, you know?”

Jordan nodded.  She looked up at him and her dark eyes were anxious and her bottom lip was red and swollen from worrying it between her teeth.  Jordan decided getting Ann some action on the side wasn’t a good idea.  He didn’t think anyone in Elton was good enough for her anyway.

“Do you know if anyone has checked in with the officers sitting on Brendan’s house yet?” Jordan asked.

“I’m not sure.”  Ann suddenly got excited.  “We can check with dispatch.”

Jordan and Ann left the office and made their way to the front lobby.  Rachel, Katie, and the overnight secretary, Dylan, actually doubled as dispatch for the Elton PD.  They kept track of the officers in and out of the office and passed on the information of incoming calls to whatever senior officer was on duty who decided who should be sent.  When calls came in from 911, they immediately assigned whoever was closest to the scene without consulting the senior management.  They had a computer dedicated to tracking the GPS installed in all the police cruisers and could reach them all via radio.  There was just so little criminal activity in Elton that it had taken Jordan a couple of weeks before he figured all this out.

Rachel was on duty and she raised an eyebrow at Jordan and Ann as they approached her.  “What can I do for the G Couple?” she asked in her sultry voice.

“Do you know who has been assigned to sit on Brendan Foley’s house?” Ann asked.

“Yeah.  Russ caught Mike on his way out and told him to follow Brendan home.  He’s still there as far as I know.”

“Can you check?” Jordan asked.  “If he’s still there.”

“Sure.”

Rachel picked up the handheld radio and turned the volume up on the device.  A low crackle of static came out of the speaker.  She pushed the button on the side and spoke, “Home Base calling Unit 81.”  She released the button and waited for an answer.

“This is Unit 81.”

“Yeah, can you give me your twenty?”

“Still outside Foley’s house on Beech Street.”

Rachel looked at the agents.

“Can you ask if there’s been any movement?” Jordan asked Rachel.

“Unit 81, have you seen the subject exit the house?”

“No.  Not by the front door.”

“Is anyone watching the back?” Jordan asked and Rachel repeated the question.

“Not that I know of.  But, there are high fences in the back yards of these townhomes.  And woods behind that.  It seems unlikely he would try to leave that way.”

“But what if someone tries to get in that way,” Ann murmured.

“And you’re certain he’s there?” Jordan asked.

Rachel looked back and forth between Ann and Jordan and asked Jordan’s question.

“Uh, yeah, Home Base.  I followed his car through the back side of town, away from the lake, and I did lose sight of him by the light in front of the rail road tracks.  But, when I pulled into the parking lot I saw his car parked in front of his address, and I saw him opening the door to the house with a key.  I’ve been parked here ever since.  No one in or out by the front door.”

Jordan turned to look at Ann and shrugged.  At least they knew he had made it safely to his townhouse.  Ann pulled on the hem of her jacket with one hand.

“Can you ask him if he will get out the car and go knock on the door?  Just get a visual on him again?”

Rachel shrugged.  “Sure.  I guess knocking once can’t be considered harassment.  But we’ll have to be careful about how much we bother him.  He definitely let everyone in the office know on his way out that he was not going to put up with ‘false imprisonment’ or some such nonsense.  Personally, if it was me, I would have you lovely agents sleeping in a fort around me in a locked jail cell.”

Jordan smiled as he pictured that in his head.  He had a feeling Rachel was seeing it differently.

“Home Base to Unit 81.”

“Go ahead, Home Base.”

“Could you go knock on the door and see if you can get an answer out of him.  We’d like visual confirmation that he’s still in his home.”

“Ten-four.  Standby.”

Jordan and Ann waited by the desk as Rachel checked her nails.  A couple of minutes passed and Unit 81 didn’t respond.  Benson and Russ came in the front station doors.  Russ didn’t look he had a new asshole torn anywhere on his body, but Benson’s expression was dark and, most frighteningly, unreadable.

“What’s going on?” Benson asked, alarmed at seeing Jordan and Ann by the front desk.

“We had Rachel call the officer sitting on Brendan to ask him to knock on his door.  He saw him go inside and hasn’t seen him come out, but no one’s watching the back.  So, we wanted another visual.”

Benson nodded and he and Russ waited by the desk as well.  Three minutes later a crackle came over the radio.

“Home Base, this is Unit 81.”

“Go ahead, 81.”

“Yeah, I went to the door and knocked several times, but he didn’t answer.”  As one, the agents and detective tensed.  “But, I did see movement at a window.  A curtain was pulled back and then pulled shut more tightly.  I guess he saw it was the police and decided not to answer the door.”

“Can he confirm that it was Brendan in the window?” Benson asked.

Rachel relayed the message.

“I didn’t see his face, no.”

“We need to go over there.  Now,” Benson said.

“Let’s call him,” Russ suggested.  “Before we go and break down his door and then he’ll definitely not come back with us.”

Benson frowned but Jordan had already pulled out his cell phone and was dialing the number he had saved for Brendan.  It rang four times before going to voicemail.  He tried again with the same result.

“Can we go now?” Benson asked.

“Hold on, let me try his landline,” Russ said and pulled out his phone.  He dialed the number and put the phone on speaker and held it out so they could all hear.  It rang two times and then was picked up halfway through the third ring.

“Hey,” Brendan’s voice answered.

“Brendan.  This is Detective Little.  Have we reached you at your home?”

“It’s me.  I made it home.”

“Good.  We were worried when you left.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“You will?  We think it’s best you stay at the station.”

“I know.”  He paused.  “Tomorrow night.”

“I think tonight would be best, Brendan,” Russ said firmly.

“Okay.  Whatever you like.”  He paused again.  “Can you pick me up at—”

Russ waited for him to continue.  “Brendan?  You want us to pick you up?  Now?”

“Around eight.”

“Okay.  We can do that.  But stay inside and stay vigilant.  If anything seems unusual, call us right away.  We are also going to leave the officer posted outside if you need help.”

“Okay.  Thanks.  Bye.”

“It’s not a problem but—” Russ pulled the phone close to look at it.  “The little shit hung up on me.  Well, there’s some gratitude.”

Benson was scowling.  “I don’t like it.  Why can’t he come now?  Why is he making us wait until tonight?”

“Maybe he just wants to spend some time watching TV in his underwear,” Rachel suggested.

“Home Base, this is Unit 81.  Do you want me to try again?”

Rachel raised her eyebrows at the small group.  Everyone deferred to Benson.  He sighed in aggravation.

“No.  Just leave him alone.  But we’re picking his ass up at 7:30.”

“You want the keys to the Accent?” Jordan asked.

“What for?”

“To go back to the motel.  We can pick you up before we go get Brendan.”

“No, I’m awake now.  I’ll just stay here.”

“Benson—”

“If I need a nap I’ll go crash in the on call room.  But like I said, I’m awake now.  So, let’s go over some more witness statements from the Mueller scene.”

The quartet left Rachel to her nails and to inform the officer to sit tight.  Jordan peeled off the group as they got close to the office and walked to the stairs that led down to the basement.  His nose still wrinkled the first moment he was hit with the formaldehyde smell of the morgue, but it took him less and less time to get used to it.  He knocked lightly on the metal door and entered without waiting for a response.  Nic sat at a bench, wearing a white lab coat, and peering through a microscope.

“Hey, Nic,” Jordan said.

She turned around on her stool and smiled at him.  “Hey.  The report on the trace evidence from both the Mueller and the Hernandez scenes didn’t yield anything significant.  That’s why I didn’t bother to come up and report on nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what we expected,” he said as he moved closer to her.  “A motel room and a forest aren’t the best places to look for that kind of evidence.”

Jordan bent at the waist to kiss her, but also to keep himself from touching anything else.  Her hands were gloved so she didn’t touch him either, but kissed him back.

“Oh!”  She sat back.  “There is one thing.  There was some bark from an ash tree nearby at the Hernandez scene.  Now, that’s not too much to cause a stir—ash trees are common around here.  But that section of forest is predominantly spruce and white pine.  I sent an intern out to check and the closest ash was at least a quarter of a mile away.  So, I figured we would check to see if there’s a place where ash grows and the soil composition we got from the dirt specimen found at the Thompson house have any crossover.”

“Oh, wow.  You can do that?”

“Not us.  But the regional geologic society has that kind of info in their databases.  We’re waiting to hear back from them.  It might give you a place to look into.  Or if it’s populated, a potential pool of suspects.”

“That would be amazing.  Thank you, Nic.”

She shrugged and feigned modesty.  “Eh.  It’s what I do.”

She grinned and Jordan smiled back.  As anxious as he was about Brendan being holed up alone in his house, it was nice to have a moment of positivity.  And Nic was always positive.

“Alright.  I’ve got some work to do for another case, so scoot.  But kiss me first.”

“You’re working on a case other than ours?” Jordan teased as he complied with her wish for another kiss.

“I would that I was done with yours.”

Jordan sighed.  “Yeah.  Me too.”

 

~~~

 

Benson looked up from the notes he was taking and cross-referencing with witness statements when Jordan came back into the room with a large paper shopping bag.  The smell of Nell’s mouthwatering food wafted into the air and made his stomach growl.

“You can bring that right over here,” Benson said.

“Ladies first,” Jordan said, stopping where Ann was sitting.

“What ladies?” Benson grumbled and scratched a dark line in the margin of his notes.

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

Benson glared at the mark on his page.  He was going to have to rewrite this whole page or continue the mark until it made a complete border.  One or the other.

“You sure are grouchy when you’re hungry,” Ann said.

“And sleepy,” Jordan chimed in.

Benson turned a glare on them and they looked away.  He looked at Russ.  “You got anything to add?”

Russ put his hands in the air and shook his head.

Because he was being ornery, Jordan came last to him with the food.  He barely managed a thank you.  He _was_ tired and hungry.  And he was definitely going to have to go to sleep after installing Brendan in the bed next to him in the on call room.  And possibly handcuffing them together.  So that meant he wouldn’t see Oska.  And he realized that was why he was really upset.  His subconscious had already figured out that he wouldn’t see Oska tonight or in the morning, and possibly not for the rest of the week.

“Um, hey guys?” a voice asked from the door at the same time someone knocked on the frame.  The group turned to see Katie at the door.  “So, I just got a radio call from Henry, who took over for Mike at the Foley house, and he says there’s a man who walked up to the door and entered with a set of keys.  He’s got him detained and wanted to know if—” she stopped talking as the four people sprang to action grabbing coats and keys and ran for the door.  “You guys wanted to come talk to him,” she said to the empty room.

It was 7:03 when Russ’ unmarked vehicle careened into the parking lot of Brendan’s neighborhood.  He cut off the siren when he stopped but left the lights flashing.  Benson and Russ had to open the backdoors so Jordan and Ann could get out, but then they were all sprinting for the townhouse.  The door was open and they pushed inside, walking down a narrow hallway and out into a kitchen.  Next to it was a tiny den where a scared looking young man was handcuffed to an end table.  Footsteps sounded on the stairs at the back of the kitchen and four guns were drawn, which made the man on the couch squeak.  A uniformed police officer stepped into the kitchen and started when he saw the barrels trained on his head.

“Whoa!  I’m Officer Henry Nossett, badge number—”

“I know you who you are, Hank,” Russ said, a little disgusted.

Everyone put their guns away.

“What’s going on?” Benson asked.

“Well, I was watching the house, and Foley never came out, but I see this guy approach the door.  And he didn’t knock.  He entered with keys.  I thought it was possible he had taken them from Foley or something.  So I ran up to confront him and he said he was looking for Brendan.  He said he didn’t think he was home.  So, I handcuffed him, called it in, and searched the premises.  I don’t think Foley is here.”

“Did you search every room?” Russ asked.

“Well, this floor and the upper one.  I guess he could be on the lower level.”

“I’ll go check,” Ann said and walked back to the front of the house where a set of stairs led down into a basement.

Benson turned to the man on the couch.  “Who are you?”

“My n-name is—Alex Burton.  I’m Brendan’s boyfriend.  Is he okay?  Is he missing?”

Benson didn’t know what answer to give just yet.  Russ nodded to the officer and he took the hint and un-cuffed him from the table.  Alex rubbed his wrist and looked around at the agents.  Ann came back into the room.

“I didn’t find anyone downstairs.”

“Oh, god,” Alex breathed and put his hands to his mouth.  “What’s going on?  I thought he was staying with the police!  Then he calls me and says he’s going to stay with me a few days and he never showed up—”

“Alex,” Jordan said soothingly and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Sit down.  Tell us what you know.”

Alex sat and Jordan sat beside him on the couch.  Alex took in a deep breath and then choked on it and tried again.  Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.  “I, um, I got a call this morning.  Brendan said he was going to stay with me because the police said it was okay.”

Russ drew a breath, but Benson discreetly put out a hand to stop him from protesting that fact.  What Brendan had told his boyfriend about what the police had okayed wasn’t relevant at the moment.

“He said he was going to swing by his place to pick up a few things and then he would come to mine.  When he didn’t show up right away I just figured he was showering or had decided to take a nap.  Then I realized he’d probably gone to The Daily Grind to check up on everything.  He’s been so worried about it the past few days.  But, then it got late.  And I tried his cell phone and he didn’t answer.  And I stopped by the Grind, but he wasn’t there and Meredith said he hadn’t been there all day.  So, I decided to come here to check to see if he was sleeping and his cell phone battery had died or something.  And I had barely gotten in the door when the officer came in.”  Alex drew in another shuddering breath.  “Is he—was he—where is Brendan?!”  He covered his face with his hands and sobbed.  Jordan rubbed his back and looked up at Benson.

Benson could feel his brain screaming in confusion and fear and guilt and terror that the Angel Slayer had somehow gotten the drop on them.  But outwardly he remained cool.  He was even impressed that his voice didn’t shake when he asked, “What time did you speak with Brendan on the phone?”

Alex wiped his nose with his hand and Ann brought him a paper towel from the kitchen.  He thanked her and blew his nose.

“Um.  It was at ten.  I remember because I was baking muffins for the shop, and I was watching the clock so I knew when they needed to come out.”  He nodded as if reassuring himself of that fact.

“When did we talk to him on the phone?” Jordan asked.

“Around eleven,” Benson replied.

“And the officer said he’d arrived at the townhouse just behind Brendan at five past ten,” Ann reminded them.  “So, that fits.  He was here in the house until at least eleven.  And you didn’t receive any other messages from him, Alex?  He didn’t answer any further calls?  When was the next time you called him?”

“I called him sometime after two, I think, when he hadn’t shown up.  He didn’t answer his cell phone so I tried his home phone.”

“What time was that exactly?”

“I’m not sure exactly, but I left a message on his answering machine.  The time would be recorded with that.”

Alex turned to the table beside the couch and pulled a base unit for a cordless phone closer to him.  The phone itself was missing, but there was a blinking red light on the machine.  Alex pushed a button and the machine asked that if he wanted to delete all messages to press the button again.  “Oh, shit, no.”  He quickly pushed another button and the machine declared it was doing an all message playback.  An old message started playing.  “Crap.  How do I go back…?”

“Hey.  It’s me.  I made it home.  Parents are thrilled.  Thanks for staying at my place and taking care of Mr. Fuzzy Pants.  I know you and he don’t get along very well.  But, I’ll be back soon.  And don’t forget tomorrow night is Fancy Feast night.  It doesn’t matter what flavor, whatever you like.  Okay, so on Friday can you pick me up at the airport?  I get in around eight.  Thanks.  Love you!  Bye.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Alex said, “it should play mine now—”

“Wait,” Benson said and stepped forward to hit the back button on the machine.  The message played again.  And they all heard it.

**“Hey.  It’s me.  I made it home**.  Parents are thrilled.  Thanks for staying at my place and taking care of Mr. Fuzzy Pants.  **I know** you and he don’t get along very well.  But, **I’ll be back soon**.  And don’t forget **tomorrow night** is Fancy Feast night.  It doesn’t matter what flavor, **whatever you like**.  **Okay** , so on Friday **can you pick me up** **at** the airport?  I get in **around eight**.  **Thanks**.  Love you!  **Bye**.”

It was the same words, tone, and inflection Brendan had used when he’d spoken to them on the phone earlier.  Or rather, when someone had played bits of the message back to them to convince them Brendan was safe at home.  They were all silent for several moments.  Alex looked around at them.

“Um.  Do you need hear the time of my message?”

“Officer Nossett,” Benson said quietly.

“Yes, Agent Remick?”

“Can you put in a call for backup and the forensics team?  This is a crime scene.”

“Oh god!” Alex cried.

“And make sure to request Officer Mercer and Bunny are sent here.  We might need to search the woods.”

 

Alex had been taken back to the station.  Ann had volunteered to go with him and get an official statement.  The townhouse was now roped off and crawling with police and forensic technicians.  What made it worse was that they didn’t even know what they were looking for.  Benson had them concentrate on the windows and doors that led to the back of the house.  He trusted that the officers on duty had not seen anyone enter or exit the front, but now he wondered if Brendan had ever actually made it to his home at all.  The first officer did admit that he’d been separated from him on the drive from the station and by the time he caught up he just saw someone wearing the same clothes as Brendan enter the house.

Russ was leaning against the kitchen counter, his hand over his mouth.  Ever since the discovery that the phone call had been faked, he had been all but mute.  Benson watched a technician dust the backdoor knob for prints.  The Angel Slayer wouldn’t be that careless.

“Hey,” Jordan said coming into the kitchen with Oska behind him.  “Oska’s here.”

Benson felt a weird sensation tug inside his chest when he saw his—Oska.  He didn’t want to bring him to another Angel Slayer crime scene.  He pushed those thoughts aside and asked, “Where’s Bunny?”

“I left her in the car.  There’s too much activity going on in here right now.  I didn’t want to bring her in until we’re ready for her.”  His eyes flicked to Russ but the detective just looked away.  “Are we searching the house for a body?”

“No.  Well, I hope not.  I don’t think Brendan’s here.  I think he’s been kidnapped.  And if he was taken from here, he would have been taken out the back.  Either by a window or the door and probably walked or dragged through the woods some distance.  I wanted to see if Bunny could follow his scent.  If we get a shirt out of the dirty clothes maybe she can pick up a trail in the woods.”

Oska bobbed his head to the side and made a slight face.  “We can try, but that’s not what she’s trained for, you know?  She’s not a bloodhound.  She’s been trained to recognize certain smells and then signal to me where she finds those smells.  She’s not really a tracker.  That’s an entirely different set of skills.  It’s possible that if we give her the scent on the shirt and let her wander the woods, she could wind up leading us to some kids smoking pot.  That’s what she’s trained to do.”

“Who the fuck cares what she’s _trained_ to do, Mercer,” Russ snapped.  “We need to know what she _can_ do.  So can the bitch help us or not?”

“I have had enough—!” Oska started and stepped forward.  Russ stepped away from the counter and Benson put himself between them.  He put one hand flat in the middle of Russ’ chest and the other he used to push Oska back by the shoulder.

“Jordan.  Will you take Oska upstairs to Brendan’s bedroom and find one of his shirts?  Try to make sure it’s his and not Alex’s.  Then get Bunny and take her around back to the woods.  I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Jordan started up the stairs in the back and Oska glared at Russ as he followed him.

The technician by the doorknob gathered up her supplies and beat a hasty retreat to the living room.  Benson turned to Russ and saw the man leaning on the counter and squeezing the edge with both hands, his eyes tightly shut.

“Hey, Russ, what’s going on, man?”

Russ opened his eyes and looked at Benson.  He shook his head and looked like he was two seconds away from a total breakdown.  “This is on me, Benson.”

“What?”

“If Brendan is—I’m the one who let him out of the station.  It was on my watch.  If the Angel Slayer has him—”  Russ shook his head with a bitter, self-hating smile.  “I may as well have killed him myself.”

“Hey, hey,” Benson stepped close to him and put a hand to his shoulder.  Then he raised it to his face and made him look up and meet his eyes.  “This is not on you.  Brendan made the decision to leave.  There’s nothing you could have done—”

“But I shouldn’t have told him what the angel name meant—!”

“Maybe not.  Hey.  Listen, Russ.  We know Chariel means Monday.  We’ve got over five days to find him.  We can get him back alive.”

“Even if we find him and get him back alive—he’s probably already torturing him!”

“Russ.  This man’s evil is not yours.  Don’t take that on.”

Russ stared into Benson’s eyes like he was desperate to believe him.  He nodded minutely.  Noise alerted them that someone had come down the back stairs.  Benson dropped his hand and took a step back.  Oska was staring at them.  Jordan came in a moment later holding a green polo shirt with “Brendan” embroidered on the upper left part of the chest.

“We’re going to go take Bunny around back now,” Jordan said.

Benson nodded and tried not to be annoyed, and pleased, with the jealous look Oska threw his way as he left the kitchen.  Benson turned to Russ.

“Okay.  We’ve got to reason through this.  If you were the Angel Slayer, would you be more concerned about getting him somewhere you could do your work?  Or somewhere close by just to hide him until there was a better opportunity to move him without being seen?”

“Well, if it were me,” Russ said, “I would look for a place where I could do both of those.”

Benson chewed on his thumb.  Then he snapped his head up.  “There’s a townhouse in foreclosure at the end of this row.  It should be empty and it has a basement.”

“Let’s go see who the realtor is so we can get a hold of them to bring the keys.”

“Or we could just break down the door,” Benson suggested.

“I like the way you think, Agent Remick.”

 

**Wednesday, November 13, 2013**

 

Benson stared at the body.

From the angle of his head, his neck clearly had to be broken.  His face was sideways on the floor, but his neck and body were straight up and down.  Two clothes racks had been emptied of their Red Sox and Patriots T-shirts and used to hold his legs splayed open in a straight line with shoelaces tied around his ankles.  Burned across his perineum and anus was the word, “sodomite.”

Benson was biting his cheek so hard he tasted blood.  His fingers dug into his shirt and his arms felt weak from being clenched tightly where they crossed his chest.  Brendan Foley had suffered less mutilation than most of the other victims, but the damage to his mouth and lips spoke of cruel torture before the end.  An end that came too soon.  Much too soon.  The Angel Slayer had rules—he wouldn’t break them.  Even though he knew the police would catch on to him sooner rather than later, he couldn’t kill Brendan before Monday; Chariel was his angel.  The first thing Benson had checked was to see if a different name had been carved on his chest.  But Chariel was there in dark red marks, rust colored stains striping his chest.  It had probably been done postmortem like the others, but the blood flow suggested it had been within minutes of his death.  Maybe less.

The owner of the store had called the police in hysterics at nine o’clock when he came in to open up for the day.  Brendan had been missing less than twenty-four hours, but the result was still the same.  Benson stiffly moved an arm to rub his forehead with a hand.  He felt an overwhelming weariness sweep over him.  He hadn’t had real sleep in over thirty-six hours and he hadn’t eaten in about twenty.  He felt helpless.  Useless.  He wasn’t doing anything to save the people of Elton.  A killer walked amongst them and laughed as he watched Benson struggle.  Howled in amusement at his failings.  Plotted his next victim’s death and the dance he would do on Benson’s grave when he was finally done.

“Benson.”

Benson jumped a foot when the hand landed on his shoulder.  Jordan stood beside him and put out a calming hand.

“Hey, it’s okay.  It’s just me.  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should take a break until they get the scene processed—”

“I’m fine,” Benson repeated harshly.

Jordan nodded.  He glanced at the body and then away.  He swallowed thickly.  This was the first victim they had both known personally.  It made it more difficult to just see him as another body.

“Why did he do it so soon?” Benson asked, mostly to himself.

Jordan shrugged.  “He knew the longer he kept him alive the more likely he would be caught.”

“But, he’s been so meticulous about these names and the days and times.  There’s no way we got that wrong.  The angel names are when they will be killed.  He can’t break that rule.”

Jordan licked his lips and tilted his head.  “Benson, did you not see the name of this store?”

Benson finally looked away from the body and met Jordan’s tired hazel eyes.

“It’s called Monday Morning Quarterback.”

 

~~~

 

"This is total bullshit!" Benson yelled for the sixth time.  "He can't just decide he's going to throw his rule book out the window!"  He threw the book with the angel listings at the first whiteboard, but it was so thin it fluttered open and fell ineffectually to the floor.  Benson cursed and kicked the board.  It slammed against the wall with a bang and a clatter.

"Of course he can," Ann said, her own voice raised.  "There is no rule book for serial killers.  They do what they want because they're playing a game of their own invention which means they can change the rules, break the rules, or stop playing altogether!"

"No."  Benson turned on her.  "Not this guy.  Not the one from DC.  I am telling you.  There are two of them.  The original would never have cheated like this."

"So what if you two are right?" Russ cut in, indicating Jordan as one of the "two" with an angry flick of his hand.  "There are two of them.  A student and a teacher.  It doesn't change the fact that an innocent kid under our protection died today!"

"Of course it doesn't but it does mean we need to change the way we're going about this!" Benson countered.

"Like what?" Ann asked.

"For one, we need to reinvestigate Gilbert Hannigan."

"Hannigan?" Russ asked.  "He was cleared for Vanderpool's murder."

"For Vanderpool, yes.  And Mueller's too.  But no one else's.  He doesn't have an alibi for any of the other kills.  If he's the second one, he could have killed them."

"But why Hannigan?" Ann asked.

"He's the best lead we have, Ann!" Benson was shouting again.

Jordan glanced at the door to the office.  It was shut, but there was no way everyone in the bullpen wasn't aware that a shit-storm was taking place in here.

"He has connections to two of the victims.  He had an affair with Vanderpool and he openly threatened Foley."

"He was also genuinely upset and surprised by Vanderpool's death.  Even as a student, wouldn't he know who his master's targets are?"

"Not necessarily."

"And he never threatened Foley,” Ann continued.  “He denounced his lifestyle, but no one has said that he ever made threats against his life or about trying to ruin his business."

"He fits the description of the size of man who would wear the boots found at the Hernandez scene.  He's five-seven and a hundred and thirty pounds."

"That is all circumstantial, Benson.  There's no way a judge would issue a warrant based on that."

"I know!"  Benson turned away from her and ran his hands through his hair.  He turned back.  "But that doesn't mean we can't put a tail on him."

"Actually, it does," Russ said.  "We can't put an official one on him without at least reasonable suspicion."

"We have fucking reasonable suspicion!  And I'll tail him myself if I have to."

"Benson," Ann said, trying to stay calm, "I know you're upset about Brendan.  But we can't just start doing illegal investigations because we're desperate."

"Illegal—?!"  Benson turned to Jordan.  "You want jump in here, buddy?"

Jordan opened his mouth and froze.  He didn't know what to do.  He forced himself to start talking and hoped he'd figure out what he was saying by the end.

"I fully support the notion of two killers.  We can't make the assumption that being cleared of one murder absolves him of all of them.  But we can't go off half-cocked either.  Nic is trying to narrow down an area where the killer... _ers_...might be picking up certain kinds of natural trace evidence.  If she can narrow it down to a region, we might have a suspect pool.  And names might start standing out."

"Well, that'll be great when we have that info, but we do we do until then?  There were no security cameras at the store.  But that store is two and a half miles from Foley's house!  How did he get Brendan from his house to the store with no one seeing fucking anything?!"

Benson grabbed onto the back of his desk chair and squeezed his eyes shut.  His knuckles turned white with the strength of his grip.

"What's more disturbing than any of that is how tech savvy this guy has to be," Russ said.

"What do you mean?" Ann asked.

"That phone conversation we had with 'Brendan.'  Those words weren't in order on the recording.  He had to play them back in pieces that fit with our conversation.  He couldn't just skip forward and ahead like that even if he had put the audio file on his computer.  He had to have had a program that he could type in the words so it would play the ones he wanted.  There were barely any pauses in the responses he gave us."

"Well, fan-fucking-tastic.  We'll put out an APB for Stephen Hawking and Bill Gates.  They seem just as likely as anybody else."

Jordan gave Benson a look after that tirade.  Benson just turned his back on him and walked over to the third whiteboard.  He picked up the red marker and added to the profile: computer nerd.  He stayed at the board with his back to the room.  Ann flopped down in an empty chair and glared at the floor.  Russ had a hollowness in his eyes that had seeped in with the news of Brendan's death.  Jordan knew he held himself personally responsible for the kid's death.  Really, his death was on all of them.  They'd had him, known he was the next target, and yet they couldn't protect him.  Jordan knew that if—when—they solved this case, he was going carry Brendan Foley around with him for the rest of his life.  And anyone else the Angel Slayer got before they got him.

_If they ever got him_.

Jordan clenched his hand into a fist and berated himself for the thought.  They _were_ going to get him.

There was a knock on the door and everyone jumped at the sudden disruption.  The door opened and Gus stood in the frame.  He had his thumbs hooked in his belt and the expression on his face informed them that everyone in the bullpen had been privy to the shouting and fighting that had been going on for at least an hour.  This two minute silence had probably been the first window of opportunity Gus had had to barge in on them.  No one said anything; there was nothing to say regarding their behavior or their investigation or their frame of mind.

"Go home," Gus said.  "It's after ten.  Most of you have been up way too long to still have objective and rational thoughts crawling around in your brain.  Get some food, get some rest.  Get some _sleep_.  None of you are allowed to come in tomorrow."

"Are you kidding me?" Benson growled menacingly.

"I have no authority over you, Agent Remick, or the other agents.  But none of you are thinking clearly right now.  We have a shit ton of evidence to be sorted through and the forensics team is working on it.  If any of it yields a breakthrough, you will of course be called in.  But there is nothing for you to do tomorrow other than be in the way.  I'll have a team transcribe the witness statements, gather whatever footage is available from Foley's neighborhood to the strip mall where he was found, and I will see if I can call in a favor to a judge to get a surveillance detail approved for Hannigan.  When you come in Friday, all of this will be ready for you to review, Nic's autopsy and tests should be complete, and we'll know how much leeway we have with Hannigan."  He waited to see if anyone would contradict his reasoning.  "So, we're in agreement?  I won't see any of you back here until Friday."

"If _anything_ —" Benson started but Gus interrupted him.

"You, Agent Remick, will be the _first_ one I call."

Benson threw a hand in the air in defeat and turned to gather his coat from the desk.  "Whatever," he mumbled.

He walked out of the office and Jordan looked after him, not sure what to do.

"Go ahead," Ann said.  "I'll lock up."

"Thanks, Ann.  See you guys on Friday."

He grabbed his suit coat and overcoat and checked his pants pocket for the key to the Accent as he left the office.  He hurried outside and then paused to put on his overcoat; it had gotten ten degrees colder in the last day or so and the temperature was flirting with the thirties at night.  He walked down the sidewalk to where they'd parked the car after returning from the crime scene.  Parked next to it was the K9 vehicle.  Jordan slowed down as he saw Oska and Benson standing in between the cars.  He was too close to avoid hearing them talk and didn't know if he should turn back or not.

"You coming in to work?" Benson asked flatly.

"Called in sick today actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  I've got the whole night and tomorrow off."

Benson stepped forward into Oska's space and spoke in a voice laced with pain and guilt.

"Oska, please, I'm begging you: invite me to your home, take me to your bed, and—"

Jordan couldn't tell if Benson stopped talking or if by turning his head close to Oska he had masked his words.  Oska reached up and took his face in his hands.  Then he kissed him, and Benson responded, standing right underneath the conspicuous spotlight of a streetlamp.

"Hey, do you guys remember where you are?" Jordan called out quietly.

They pulled apart and Benson let out a harsh laugh.  "I really don't fucking care," Benson muttered and stepped around Oska to open the police car door.  Bunny whined from the backseat and Jordan could hear Benson greeting her before he shut the door.  Oska looked at Jordan.

"Take care of him tonight," Jordan said, quite on impulse.

Oska nodded.  "I will."

He walked around the car and got in the driver's side.  The car started and backed out of the space.  Jordan remained standing on the sidewalk as he watched the SUV's tail lights disappear into the night.

Jordan rubbed his forehead with a hand.  He wasn't sure if he was cut out for this.  He'd thought working criminal cases would be bagging corporate douche bags committing white collar crimes.  He'd been prepared for boring when he'd transferred.  But boring just wasn't going to happen anytime soon.  Gus might not want them at work tomorrow, but he had little doubt that Benson, if not all of them, would be getting phone calls from Muff, Crenshaw, and god knows who else in the morning.  He better get back to the motel and get what sleep he could tonight.

 

**Friday, November 15, 2013**

 

Jordan strummed his fingers on the table in the conference room.  The four principles on the Angel Slayer case, Gus, and ASAC Muff were all present for Nic's report.  He was quite certain he wasn't the only one who wished he'd decided to sit this one out.

"His tongue had been cut out of his mouth and his teeth were all pushed inward.  Something—very large—was shoved down his throat and is what broke his teeth, damaged his mouth, and disfigured his throat.  Inside his throat we found three bull testicles."

"Jesus," Ann said and sat back in her chair.

"Bull testicles," Benson said, his voice dull and flat.  "Is that a common item around here?"

"There are a lot of farms in the area; cattle are raised on several of them.  But these were removed with precision.  Probably a butcher."

"So, I guess we'll go ask the local butchers if they sold any testicles recently.  Seems like that would be a purchase one would remember."

It was true and it was possibly a good lead, but Benson's tone indicated that he didn't think this evidence would pan out better than any of the rest had.

"He didn't die of a broken neck," Nic continued.  "That was done postmortem.  Probably as just an amusement to the killer.  What killed him—are any of you familiar with some of the more colorful theories regarding King Edward II's demise?"

"Hot poker up the ass?" Muff asked.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"What?  I majored in history."

Everyone looked back at Nic.

"Something like that.  I'm not sure if the injuries did it or the shock to his system, but it wasn't an easy death.  Though perhaps he may not have been fully aware of it.  I found traces of Telazol in his blood.  It's an animal tranquilizer and would explain how they were able to get him from his house to the store quietly and unnoticed.  It might also explain how they were able to subdue other victims when they were first kidnapped.  The drug wasn't in any of their systems by the time the bodies got to us, so my guess is they were only tranquilized when they were first taken and not during the subsequent torture."

"I take it this drug is not available over the counter?" Russ asked.

"No.  It's a controlled substance like ketamine.  Most veterinarians have access to it."

Jordan sat up straighter.  "Well, there's two links to animals right there.  The testicles and the drugs.  Maybe one of the killers has a day job as a large animal veterinarian."

"That's possible," Benson said, showing a little more life in his eyes.  "That would certainly give us a manageable list of names to look into."

"It would be a small number," Nic agreed.  "But most large animal vets in this area specialize in equine care.  They also mostly live in the countryside and none in Elton proper."  Nic folded her hands over her report and smiled uneasily.  "I may have already looked into it."

"No, that's good," Benson said.  "Can you provide us with the list of names?"

"Yes.  I included it in with the report."

"Is there anything else you have for us?" Muff asked Nic.

"There's not much except I think he was killed sometime early Tuesday afternoon and only brought to the store for staging."

"Early Tuesday afternoon," Benson muttered.  "While we all just sat here, he was already dead."

No one had anything to say to that.

"Thank you, Dr. Reading," James said.  Nic nodded and stood up from the table.  She gave Jordan a tight, reassuring smile as she left the room.  "So.  Where do we go from here?  And what do we tell the press?"

"I suggest we not release that we had Brendan in our custody, knew he was a target, and then let him go," Russ said.  Gus looked at him disapprovingly.  "What?  It's not lying.  It's just not exposing to the world what incompetent asses we are."

"Speak for yourself," Ann muttered under her breath.

"All right," James said.  "We've got witness statements to corroborate, butchers and veterinarians to interview, parking lot security footage to review, and a whole hotline full of tips that need to be sorted through.  Agent Remick, I leave you to delegate as you see you fit.  I'm going to take Gus here and have a conference call with Crenshaw and the Deputy Director and try to figure out what we're going to say to the media."

Everyone stayed seated, waiting to see if they were going to get the ass chewing they had been waiting for all day yesterday that had never come.

"Well, don't just sit there mesmerized by my beauty.  Git."

Everyone except James and Gus got up from the table.  They filed out of the room, Benson taking Nic's report with him.  They paused in the bullpen and he looked at his team.  The day off had done wonders for them physically, but mentally they were about to reach a breaking point.  Jordan wanted to be strong for Benson, but he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"I'll take the parking lot footage," Benson said.

Ann raised a hand.  "Witness statements," she sighed.

"I'll get some of the junior officers to start making calls to vets on this list to set up interviews," Russ said.

"Guess that leaves me with the hotline," Jordan said.

Benson handed the list of vets to Russ and he called over a uniformed officer.

"Bradley, can you make some calls to the people on this list, see if the numbers are still current, and if they'd be willing to come to the station for an interview?  I'd rather not have to drive all over the great state of New Hampshire for these interviews."

"Yeah, sure.  Should I tell them what it's in regard to?"

"Absolutely not," Benson said as Jordan and Ann said, "No," and Russ replied eloquently, "Are you stupid?"

"Okay, okay.  Geez." The officer took the list and started to look over it as he walked away.

Russ looked at the group.  "I'll start compiling a list of butchers and farmers in the area."

"Hey, Mercer!" the officer with the list called out.

Oska carefully pushed his chair back from his desk so he wouldn't run over Bunny's tail.  "What?"

"Didn't you date Rina Nelson in high school?" he asked, pointing to a name on the list.

"Everybody dated Rina Nelson in high school," someone said from the back of the room.  Everyone sniggered.

"No, Brad, I dated Andrea," Oska said with a small frown.

"No, no, I remember it.  It was that Sadie Hawkins dance.  She asked you to go before Andrea did—and man was she pissed.  Especially since you wound up taking Rina."

Oska shook his head.  "No, that was Danielle.  Rina was a couple grades behind us."

"Oh.  Well.  That was hilarious.  Andrea went with, who was it?  Someone to really piss you off for not taking her."

Oska eyes flicked to the group of agents and then back to the officer.  "Don't you have some work you need to do?"

"Yeah, yeah...oh!"  The officer spun back to look at the agents.  "It was you, Russ, wasn't it?"

Russ shrugged a shoulder.  "I honestly don't remember who I took to all the dances in high school, Brad.  I never took the same girl twice."

The bullpen broke out into laughter and catcalls and even a "Russ, you dog!"

Russ shook his head and turned to the agents.  "I'm sorry for this nonsense."

Benson shook his head.  "It's been tense in here for the last couple of days.  It's probably best for them to joke while they still can.  The media is going to be back on this case worse than ever."

Jordan knew that was the truth.  They had managed to suppress the sensationalism around Mueller's death as much as possible, but the media had actually beat the police to the scene in Foley's death and one blurry photo of his strangely positioned body had been circulated on the Internet and all the twenty-four hour news channels.  It especially gained notoriety as it was the second death since the news that the victims were receiving notification of their selection beforehand.  There had been some rather unpleasant charges leveled at the Elton PD and the FBI.  Russ was probably right about not confirming that they had had Brendan in custody before his death.  They wouldn't be able to hide it, Alex obviously knew, and soon so would Brendan's family.  Jordan was worried there might be a wrongful death suit in all their futures.

The group split up to do their assigned tasks and Jordan holed himself up in interview room two with an Elton PD borrowed laptop and a set of headphones.  He spent the entire morning and the better part of the afternoon reading e-mails, opening attachments of pictures of supposed Angel of Death Cards, and listening to messages left on the tip line.  Some were hysterical and nearly impossible to understand.  Some were clearly prank calls.  A lot left too little description to determine whether or not it was worth returning the call to ask for more details.  Some had enough detail to know they were fakes—the wrong kind of paper and writing utensil were mentioned and more often than not the person mentioned the name of a very common, well-known angel.  The Angel Slayer hadn't even used those back in DC.  There were also a lot of anonymous calls regarding suspicious neighbor activity, sounds in the night, and even a sketchy husband or two.

Jordan was getting a headache from staring at the computer screen for so long.  He wondered how Benson was fairing with hours and hours of blurred surveillance camera footage.  Maybe Ann would want to switch with him.  He felt like if he could print out the witness statements and read them on paper it might actually give his eyes a rest.  He played another tip line call and picked up his Blackberry to type out a message to Ann.

"Um, hello.  My name is Tameka Brown," a woman's voice spoke through the headphones.  "I heard about this case.  And some cards with angel names on it.  And that we should call the police if we found one.  I found an index card in my mailbox this afternoon.  It just had one word written on it.  I can't even pronounce it.  Tartar—tartar-oh-el.  It don't sound like no angel I've ever heard of.  Unless it's the angel of tartar sauce."  Jordan laughed against his will at the joke because he was pretty certain Tameka Brown had been marked by the Angel Slayer.  "I guess if you want to know more you can call me at home."  She left her number and Jordan wrote it down quickly.  He checked the date and time the call had been made: yesterday evening.

Jordan leapt out of his chair and sprinted down the hall toward the FBI office.  Benson was alone in the room scanning through footage that was only displayed on a tiny window on his laptop.  He looked like he was much further along in his headache cultivation that Jordan had been.

"Benson!"

Benson looked up and watched as Jordan ran for the book with the angel summoning rituals in it.  He skimmed the index and found the name Tartaroel.  Well, Tameka hadn't been too far off with the name after all.

"Jordan," Benson said.  "What's going on?"

"We've got another one.  We need to find Tameka Brown now.  She's scheduled for Sunday."


	7. Tartaroel

**Saturday, November 16, 2013**

 

Benson leaned back in his chair, his elbow propped on the armrest, his thumb under his chin, middle and index fingers against his cheek.  His eyes flicked from person to person as they spoke.

"There is very little question that the FBI will be handling this," James opened gruffly.

"The FBI technically handled the last target," Gus pointed out tactlessly.

Ann countered with, "We weren't the ones who released him."

Jordan tried to play peacemaker and said, "Ann, no one released him.  It wasn't anyone's fault, but—"

"No," Russ interrupted him, "it was mine, which is why it does make sense for the FBI to take this target into their custody."

"And we will," James said in a matter of fact tone, "but the short notice on the weekend will make it impossible to transport her until tomorrow."

"But her day is tomorrow," Jordan said with alarm.  "And it is the teacher's turn, so he won't cheat like the last one."

"It doesn't matter," Ann said coolly.  "We have her now.  She can stay here and be transported tomorrow."

"We could transport her to Portsmouth at least," Russ suggested.  "Just to get her out of Elton tonight."

"And put her where?" Ann asked.  "Some random hotel room?"

"Why not?" Gus broke in.  "You could stay in the room with her."

"That is a possibility," James mused, "but we need to make a decision soon.  It's getting late."

"How many cars should be in the convoy?" Russ asked.

"Only the agents would need to go back to with her," Ann said.

General arguments broke out after that.

"Agent Remick," James bellowed over the ruckus.  "Do you have anything to contribute?"

Everyone quieted down and turned to look at him.  Benson straightened and dropped his arm down to his lap.

"Well, I think we should send a couple cars out immediately.  And then two more later this evening.  And then tomorrow morning we should send a large group of cars.  And a little after that send a single car."

"And what will that accomplish?" Gus asked.

"Tameka will only be in one," Jordan said.  "And there's no way the Angel Slayer will know which."

Benson smiled and nodded at Jordan.  "Even with two of them, they won't be able to track them all and we'll send them by different routes.  We'll probably need to send a couple of actual decoys so that there is someone who looks like her in the cars."

"Which grouping do you think Tameka should be sent in?" James asked.

"The large group tomorrow morning."

"I disagree," Gus said.  "She should be in the first car.  We should get her out of here immediately.  Today."

"Not the first car for sure," Russ said.  "Because if he goes chasing after the first one, it won't be a decoy—it will be her."

"Good, then we'll catch him."

"Maybe.  That's risky though.  That's using her as bait almost.  I think she should be sent in the last, single car tomorrow.  When the first two come out today they may figure out they're decoys.  And when the large convoy leaves in the morning, that will make them think that is the real one and they will follow that.  Then after that group is out of the area, we send the single car, which doesn't seem like it's a convoy at all, and it goes straight to Boston, bypassing Portsmouth altogether so we can get her directly to the safe house."

"I don't know," Benson said, "it seems risky to send her with only one or two of us."

"Exactly.  And we," Russ circled his finger around the room, "certainly can't be with her.  I think it's safe to say that he—they—somehow know us by sight if not by name.  If any one of us is visible in a car, it will be like a beacon that she is with us—even if we are spread out in three different trips.  But, if we send one single officer who has nothing to do with the case, in an unmarked car no less, he'll just seem like somebody driving up to Boston for dinner or to go to the airport or something.  We can load her inside the car in the garage, and then she can lay down on the back seat until they hit the highway.  No one will know she's there."

"That seems like something out of a bad movie," Gus said.

Benson laughed softly.  "Believe it or not modern IOs still use that maneuver."

"So, Tameka will go in the fourth car?" James asked.

"I say no," Benson said, "but, we can take a vote."

"Okay," James said, "show of hands for the first car?"  No raised their hands.  "Second car?"  Gus raised his hand.  "Third?" Benson and Jordan raised their hands.  "Fourth car?"  James, Ann, and Russ raised their hands.  "Alright then.  We need to decide who is going in which group.  And we'll need to recruit some other officers to drive some of the cars.  And I need to make sure that the Boston field office is prepared to receive her."

“So what should we do with her tonight?” Gus asked.

“Just keep her at the station,” Benson said.  “She’s already packed a bag, so she can sleep in the on call room.  We can’t very well take her home if we want the two decoys going out tonight to have any chance at seeming legitimate.”

“Who should go out in the first two convoys?” Ann asked.

“I’d say you and James.  That way you can get to Portsmouth and make arrangements with your team there and get in contact with Boston to make sure they’re ready to receive her.  Jordan and I will go in the morning, and Russ, you’ll stay here.  And make yourself visible.  That way it can also seem like all the convoys are potentially decoys.  Now, what officers will we be able to take with us, and who would you trust to take Tameka tomorrow afternoon?”  Benson directed his last question at Gus.

“Well, either Kevin Bates or Peter McCormick.  They’re my other two detectives and have plenty of experience.  And maybe we should send Reggie.  She’s not a rookie, but is still fairly new to the force and would seem an unlikely choice for such an important detail.”

“Yes, but sending a senior detective and a young officer out together to Boston, that could seem strange.”

“Well,” Russ said, looking at the table, “we could send her with Bradley.  And while he’s not a detective, he has a lot of years on the force.”

“And why would that be better?” Gus asked.

“Because Brad and Reggie—have taken trips to Boston together before.”

Gus stared at him.  “How do you know that?”

Russ half-smiled and shrugged a shoulder.  “Everyone knows that, Chief.”

“Why don’t I know that?!”

Russ shrugged a shoulder again.

Gus grumbled under his breath and James looked around the table.  “All right then.  We’ve got a plan.  Do we feel confident with it?”

_No_ , Benson wanted to say, but he didn’t want to disrupt their plans; they still had a lot of work to do arranging officers and vehicles to be used in the convoys.

“Okay, then.  How many officers are on duty right now?”

“Not enough,” said Gus.  “Russ, go out front and tell Katie to call in all the off duty officers.  We’ll need who we don’t send to cover their shifts.  Tell them there’s an emergency meeting in thirty minutes and if they don’t already have anything at the station, to bring in an overnight bag.”

“I’m on it.”  Russ stood up and left the conference room.

"Benson, exactly how much has Tameka been briefed on?" James asked.

"Enough that she won't be asking to leave protective custody anytime soon.  I think she was also freaked out by the fact that we showed up at her sister's house in the middle of the night last night looking for her."

"Well, I don't want her scared out of her wits, but maybe a little fear will inspire a lot of cooperation.  All right, I also want to set up a phone...tree...or whatever.  I want everyone checking in with everyone every hour on the hour.  Or, every thirty or even fifteen minutes—whatever doesn't tie up the phones.  Ann, I want you to create a chart and we'll fill it in as we get the names of the officers.  Jordan and Benson, I'm going to need you two to prepare a quick presentation to get the recruited officers briefed and up to speed on what's happening.  Hopefully we can get the first convoy out in two hours."

Everyone murmured agreement and Benson nodded to Jordan as he stood up.  Jordan followed him out of the conference room and they headed for their office.

"Do you think James wants PowerPoint?" Jordan asked.

Benson half laughed.  "God, I hope not."

They stopped just before entering the office when a ruckus broke out in the front lobby as a couple of officers tried to wrestle a man down the hallway that led to booking.  Oska and Bunny weren't far behind.

"I am suing!" the man in handcuffs yelled.  "I am suing the whole damn police department!  And you in particular," he spat at Oska.  "And your little dog too!"

Oska didn't look impressed.  "Yeah, that's original."

"Do you see my arm?!"

Benson noticed for the first time that a towel had been wrapped on the man's arm and was covered in bloodstains.

Oska shrugged.  "I told you not to run."

The man started cursing, rather creatively, and the other officers once again started hauling him off.

"I'll be right there," Oska told them, "I'll put Bunny in the yard."

Benson patted Jordan on the shoulder, "Uh, can you start without me?  I just need to—"

Jordan rolled his eyes.  "Go ahead."

"It'll be quick, I promise."

Benson ignored Jordan's mumbled disbelief and followed Oska down a hall that led to the back of the building.  At the end of the hall was a door that opened out into a courtyard that contained some outdoor exercise equipment set up over wood chips.  There were also a couple of strips of grass which Bunny made a beeline for when Oska gave her the "potty time" command.

"Hey, Oz..."

Oska turned around and smiled when he saw Benson, and then his expression fell.

"What's wrong?  Did something happen?"

Benson stopped moving.  What was showing on his face?  He tried to relax his features.

"There's not another body, I think I would have heard, right?"

Benson shook his head.

"Um.  I probably shouldn't have, but I did hear that another person received a card—can you not find them?"

"No, we found her.  And we're going to get her to a safe house prepared by the FBI."

Oska nodded.  "That's good.  That's...good...right?"

"Yes, it is."

"Then, why do you look upset?"

Benson racked his brain.  Was he upset?  A little.  About what?

"I'm—going to be leaving.  For a little while.  I'll be back once Ta—the target is safely installed.  But.  It might take a few days."

"And?"

"And—um.  Nothing."

Oska allowed himself a small smile.  "Gonna miss me, Agent?"

Benson knew that was his cue to act offended or make a joke, but he couldn't.  "Yeah, I will."

Oska deflated with the confession, but he was still half-smiling.  "Benson."

"What?"

Oska pulled one corner of his bottom lip into his mouth and glanced over Benson's shoulder.  Then he stepped close and used Benson's tie to pull him in for a kiss.  He pulled back sooner than Benson would have liked and smoothed his tie down with a hand.

"Be careful, okay?  If you have the target, he'll be after you too."

Benson nodded and dipped his head for one more kiss.

"I'll see you in a couple of days.  Probably."

 

**Monday, November 18, 2013**

 

The silence was maddening.  It was tangible, it was heavy, and it was suffocating them all.  Every muscle in Benson's body was clenched so tight he was practically vibrating with the strain.  Jordan was hunched over in his chair, face white, eyes blank.  Ann was curled up in a ball on her chair, shoes discarded on the floor; she had a hand on her head, eyes closed.  Russ stood in front of the third whiteboard, possibly staring at Tameka's Brown picture, marked with her angel: Tartaroel, 21st hour of Monday; and her crime: prideful, which had been burned onto her throat.  Or maybe he had his eyes shut.  James stood in the middle of the room, not moving, not speaking, barely breathing in the ominous stillness.

"One more time," James's voice was dry and weary.  "Walk me through it."

Benson swallowed and tried to get his arms at least to relax.  They refused.  So he spoke, trying to ignore the ache in his body.

"After you left with Bates and Daniels, we prepped the second team.  Ann was going in one car and taking Officer Freeman as a decoy passenger and Hinkle and Johnson drove the car behind her.  They departed at eight p.m. and arrived in Portsmouth at five to nine.  We verified this with you and Ann via our phone tree.  Overnight, Jordan and I stayed here with Tameka in the on call room.  At ten o'clock the next morning, we reviewed the plan and discussed how she would get into the car and that she needed to stay out of sight.  She understood.  At eleven o'clock, Jordan and I were in the second car of three that left via a back road and stayed off the highway all the way to Portsmouth.  We had one of the forensic techs, Alyssa Benson, as a decoy in our vehicle.  We checked in with you and Ann when we got to Portsmouth and verified that Boston was ready to receive Tameka.  We sent word back to Elton, and Russ escorted Tameka to the garage."

Benson stopped talking and looked at Russ.  He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I escorted Tameka to the garage.  We got her arranged in the back seat of the SUV.  The windows were tinted and she was below the level of the window.  Reggie and Brad were in civilian clothing and had written instructions of the route they were to take and were directed to make contact every fifteen minutes with either myself or one of the federal agents.  They departed at exactly two o'clock, heading northbound on Main Street toward the highway.  That's the last I saw of them, but I did receive a check in from them at 2:45pm."

"I received the first check in 2:15," Benson said.

"I got the 2:30," Ann said.

"And I got the 3:00," James finished.

"I never received the 3:15," Jordan said hoarsely.

"So what happened in between me speaking with Officer Thompson at three and when we got the call at midnight?  Are we making the assumption that she was killed at exactly 9pm?  So where were they for six hours?  What were Thompson and Yamamoto doing?  Did they ever even make it out of Elton?  Were they accosted on the road and driven back into town and taken to the motel?  The desk clerk claims Officer Thompson checked them in, but he has no recollection of what happened.  Neither does Yamamoto.  Nic confirmed there was Telazol in both their systems.  Are they still sticking to their story that they were driving and just got sleepy and when they woke up they were tied in the bathtub of the motel room with the body?"

"They haven't wavered on a single detail," Jordan said.

"Has anyone found the SUV they were driving?"

"No," Benson replied.  "It was Thompson's POV, not a police car; it didn't have GPS.  But all three—Brad, Reggie, and Tameka, had bruises in a diagonal line across their chests, which is consistent with seatbelt injuries when in a high speed car accident."

"Okay, so they were in a car accident, and what?  The Angel Slayer just happened to be behind them and took them all back to Elton to complete his work?  Why didn't he kill the officers?  We searched up and down that stretch of highway and there was no sign of an accident.  There was no sign of them anywhere until the motel manager was tipped off to go check in the room.  They couldn't have just vanished into thin air!"

Everyone was quiet, and then Benson stood up slowly, wincing as his tight muscles protested the movement.

"We're ignoring the most important piece of information we have here."

"And what is that, Agent Remick?" James snapped.

"Either the Angel Slayer or his accomplice works for the Elton PD in some capacity."

There were no shocked gasps, and even the wide eyes were a token gesture of surprise.  Everyone had already been thinking the same thing.

"Or they have an inside man, but I can't imagine there's three of them.  This was too orchestrated, too perfect.  They knew in advance what the plan was.  They knew which convoy Tameka would be in and what route they would take to get to Boston.  And we have a large number of people who work here who were privy to the information."  He walked over to the whiteboard.  "I hate to say it, but our top suspects should be Bradley Martin and Reggie Yamamoto.  They could have faked the whole abduction and drugged themselves."

He wrote their names on the whiteboard.  Ann uncurled from her chair.

"Let's not rule it out, but the way they were tied up and put in the tub, it seems unlikely they could have gotten themselves into that position.  Besides that, the dose of Telazol in their systems was high enough to knock them out for several hours.  That would have severely limited the time they would have had to torture Tameka, and we know that they took the time.  She wasn't just killed."

Benson wrote those facts next to their names but also wrote, "last ones to see Tameka alive; alone together when they left with her."  Below their names he started writing down the names of all the officers present at the briefing.  He crossed off several names as they were verified to have still been with the FBI agents all Sunday afternoon.  Two had left early to return to Elton, and their names stayed up.

"You'll need to put the forensic technicians on there," Jordan said.  "A lot of the scenes were too clean for someone not to have good knowledge of forensics."

Benson wrote down all the names he could remember, and Jordan and Russ helped fill him in on the rest.  Three were half-crossed off because they had not been at the station when the plans were being made and in theory would not know about the convoys.

"You'll have to put Dr. Reading up there," James said.  "She is by far the most knowledgeable of forensic techniques and how to surgically dismember bodies.  We also always took her at her word when there was no information to be gleaned from the evidence we collected."

"Gus should be up here," Benson murmured softly.  He added the police chief's name to the much too long list.

"Wasn't he here at the station the entire time?" Ann asked.

"Most people said yes, but they can't account for him every minute of every hour," Benson replied.

"My name should be on there," Russ said dourly.

Benson looked at him and hesitated for a moment, and then wrote Russ' name on the board.  He capped the marker and turned to him.

"Where were you today?" he asked, almost casually.

"I was here in the station until four when the call came in that the convoy was missing and Brad had missed his check in.  I took my vehicle and went east.  It's why I was so late getting to the crime scene.  We can check the GPS records of the tracker on my vehicle."

"We'll do that," Benson said flatly.

Jordan opened his mouth and then closed it.  Benson turned to look at him.

"What is it, Jay?"

"I think...M...Officer Mercer needs to be on the list."

Benson reacted.  He knew he did due to the raised eyebrows and cocked heads aimed in his general direction.  He wasn’t sure exactly what he'd done, but everyone had noticed.  He knew he couldn’t discount Oska outright even though he knew it was impossible for him to be the killer.

“On what grounds?” Benson asked calmly.  “He wasn’t privy to the plans nor did he attend the briefing.”

Jordan wouldn’t meet his eyes and Benson couldn’t tell if it was because he felt bad for naming Oska or if he couldn’t look at Benson knowing he probably would be too biased to listen to him.

“There was a lot of talk around the station, honestly,” Russ said.  “We’re a small station and with so many of us involved in the operation, it probably got out just from people explaining what was going on to people who were having to cover for the missing officers.”

“Well, that’s great,” Benson said.  “So now we have to put every single name of every single employee of the Elton PD on our suspect list?”

Russ shrugged.  “Maybe not the guy who brings the muffins in."

“No, him too, I would think,” said Ann.  “He could probably walk around and hear anything and no one would even notice him because he’s always just there.”

Russ made a strange face.  “God, do we talk that much?  I suppose he could have—”

“No,” Benson said.  “This guy is police.  Possibly forensics, but I’m leaning more towards an actual cop.”

“So, do you want me to get a roster of all the employees?”

“That could—”

“That’s not the only reason why I suggested Oska,” Jordan said.

Benson turned to look at him.  “What other reasons?”

“Well, let’s be honest.  Killers, even serial killers, do tend to kill those they are familiar with.  Or those that trigger their killing tendencies.  Oska’s sister is our first victim.  This wouldn’t be the first time a killer has staged serial killings in order to cover up a personal murder.  Like the DC Sniper.”

Benson clenched his teeth together and felt his jaw expand, but then relaxed when he spoke again.  “So, he staged an elaborate plan, almost ten years in the making, just to kill off his sister?”

“He could have copycatted the original killer,” Ann suggested.

“No.  Those details were not public knowledge.  They weren’t something even someone in law enforcement would have access to.  The DC killer and the Elton one are the same person.”

“So maybe he was in DC too," Jordan said.  "He goes on humanitarian aid trips all the time.  If he disappeared from Elton for six months eight years ago, who would have noticed or thought it was unusual?”

“There wasn’t a disaster in DC eight years ago.”

“Well, he might not have been truthful about where he was going.”

“And eight years ago, those bodies were put in handcrafted wooden coffins, weren’t they?” Ann asked.  “Didn’t you say Oska does carpentry as a hobby?”

“He’s the right age,” Jordan piled on.  “You suspect that the Angel Slayer is the same kid who dissected those animals when he was fourteen or fifteen back in 1992.”

Benson’s eyes shot over to Jordan.  He hadn’t shared that theory with anyone but Jordan, but he couldn’t deny it was true.

“He did find Hernandez’s body pretty easily,” Russ said.

“What?” Benson said, more sharply than he meant to.

“Hernandez.  Oska found his body in like an hour after he was sent out.  To look in the middle of the woods.”

“He had a cadaver dog with him.”

“And over ten square miles to search.  Maybe he already knew where to look.”

“And Bunny did conveniently destroy evidence at the Mueller scene,” Ann added softly.

“That was more Russ’ fault than anybody else’s,” Benson said.

Russ laughed a little incredulously.  “What happened to it was all _your_ fault for taking it out in the first place?  And I’m telling you, she just grabbed it out of my hand.  He has that dog well trained.  He could have signaled her even from the other side of the vehicle.”

“At the very least we should look into his alibis for the murders,” said Jordan.  “After all, we know he was in the vicinity of the Lakeside Motor Lodge the night Mueller was killed.”

“We do?” James asked.

Benson felt something twisting in his gut, but he wasn’t sure if it was guilt or panic.  Either way it was nauseating.

“We saw him there,” Jordan said.

Which was a lie because Jordan had probably only _heard_ him.  Benson knew he should speak up, say something to clear Jordan from having to make false statements, but his brain wasn’t functioning.

“He also did try to have his sister’s body cremated before we were able to examine it,” James grunted in semi-thought.

“That was—" Benson started, but he had no argument for that other than he had been a grieving brother.

“I think,” Russ said, “that he might also have access to Telazol.  I know the vet that Bunny goes to has given him drugs before on the condition that he might need it on hand in the event one of the police dogs is injured while on duty.  It’s possible he may have stockpiled some over the years.”

Benson could feel a cold sweat break out on his brow.  He didn’t want to hear this.

“But…”  Benson cleared his throat and tried again.  “Do you, any of you, really think Oska has the temperament…or the capacity to do these sorts of heinous acts?”

Everyone was quiet.

“Everyone has it in them to kill,” Ann said.

“And most people are surprised when they learn the identity of a serial killer,” James said.  “They learn to hide it.  Otherwise people would come forward and say, ‘Hey, my neighbor likes to chop people up and eat them.  You might want to look into that.’”

Benson frowned at James’s flippant comment.

“Do you think he has it in him?” Jordan asked softly, finally looking up and making eye contact.

Benson opened his mouth to respond with a firm negative, but then he pictured Oska on top of him.  Pictured him holding him down, choking him, his eyes shiny with lust and excitement.

_I'm the one who's messed up.  I liked watching you struggle under me.  I liked holding your life in my hands._

Benson clenched the marker in his hand.  “I guess it’s not impossible.”

His voice didn’t even sound like his own it was so empty.  Everyone was staring at him.  He could feel his eyes stinging.  He turned away from them all and carefully wrote Oska’s name on the whiteboard.  He took two seconds to compose himself and then turned back around.

“Do we have anyone else we should add to the list?” he asked.

“I’ll go get the roster,” Russ said, and left the office.

James looked at the agents.  “While he’s gone, I think we should discuss moving this whole operation to Portsmouth.  We’re going to have to cut the Elton PD out of this investigation entirely.  We’ll need to put in a request for all the forensic evidence to be moved to one of our facilities and future evidence needs to be collected by our own people.  I’ll get another agent to set up an interview with Officer Mercer.  We should probably interview all the staff here, but none of _us_ should be in charge of them.  We can sit in, but we should let someone else do the questioning."

“I think we also have enough reasonable suspicion to get a warrant for Martin's and Yamamoto’s cell phone records," Benson said.

“Do we?” Ann asked.

“They were the last ones to have custody of Tameka.  They were found in the motel room with her.”

“Trussed up like a Christmas pig.”

Benson shrugged.  “I know the positioning was weird, but it wasn’t impossible for them to do that to themselves.  Brad is also the same age as—Oska.  So, he fits the age profile.  Reggie is young, but she could be his protégé.  We already know they have an intimate relationship; they could easily be partners.”

“That’s true,” Jordan said.  “They do fit the teacher/student paradigm.”

For some reason Benson felt irritated by the comment.  It was true, but he wondered if Jordan was just saying it because he felt bad for pointing out how well Oska fit the profile and the facts.

“I’ll speak with Gus about this,” James said.  “It’s not going to go over well that we’re investigating his people.  Especially since we’ve got him on the list too.  I’ll arrange for some transport to Portsmouth for all of our materials.  Unless, we think we can move it in our cars.”

“We’ve got to move the safe,” Ann said.  “We’ll need a heavy duty van and lifting equipment to get it out of here.”

“Okay then.  It’s late.  We’re—shit, demoralized,” James grumbled.  “Everyone go home and shower.  Sleep—if you can.  We’ll pack this all up tomorrow and until then, no talking with the staff.  That includes Russ.”

“We’re not the only ones who have keys to this office,” Benson said.  “Should we leave our notes here overnight?  I can’t imagine that our suspicions aren’t going to leak before tomorrow.  Hell, half the station has to have figured out by now that there’s an inside man at the very least.”

“Well, we can put our most important notes in the safe,” said Jordan.  “But the evidence is stored downstairs with forensics or in the evidence locker.  We can’t just move it up here and break chain of custody.  So, we’ll have to wait for the evidence team to come tomorrow anyway.”

“They probably won’t make it out until the early afternoon,” James said.  “I’ll get the ball rolling tonight if I can, but this late at night, it probably won’t happen until tomorrow anyway.  So, lock up what you can in the safe and we’ll meet back here at nine to start packing up and sanitizing.  I’ll ask Gus to put a lockdown on the evidence locker overnight.”

Everyone nodded vaguely in answer.  James stroked a hand down his beard.

“I know this is hard,” he said, his gravelly voice as gentle as it could get.  “But we did the right thing with Tameka.  And even with Brandon.  We just didn’t know we were being played the whole time.  There’s no fault in trusting the police and the people we have come to know.  It’s a shame to find out that was a grave error.”

“A grave error,” Benson repeated coldly.  “Yeah.  You could say that.”

“I just did,” James said, a little warning in his tone.

Benson flicked his eyes over to James, but didn’t apologize.

When the agents walked out of the office and locked it behind them, they were faced with a quiet, solemn bullpen.  The entire station had been hushed all day, but now it was silent.  And all eyes were on them.  They hadn’t even announced that they were closing up shop yet and beginning an in depth investigation into the Elton PD, but the seed of such a possibility had already been planted in all of their minds.  Some were glaring resentfully while others stared blankly, too shocked to comprehend the awful truth.  Benson made a conscious effort not to make eye contact with any of them.  And god did he try not to, but he raised his eyes and caught sight of Oska.  He sat in his chair and watched with a neutral expression as the agents left the station.

Benson felt sick again.  He didn’t believe Oska was the Angel Slayer.  But he was going to have to catch the real one in order to prove that to everyone else.  He drew in a shaky breath.  Maybe even prove it to himself.


	8. Sachiel

**Tuesday, November 19, 2013**

 

Jordan peeled Marissa Mueller’s picture off the whiteboard and folded the tape to stick onto the back rather than try to peel it off and damage the photo like he had done on Natalia Smith’s and Davis Thompson’s pictures.  He was doing so very meticulously and keeping his eyes focused on his task with his back to the room.  Gus and James were not having a very pleasant nor private conversation just behind him in the office.  The door was even ajar, so he was certain everyone outside was listening.

“This is insane, James,” Gus said, doing his best to keep his voice at a normal volume.  “This is how desperate the FBI has become?”

“Desperate?  We’re following the evidence,” James replied gruffly.  “Don’t turn a blind eye to this because it’s something you don’t want to see."

“I’m not—”

“Tameka’s abduction wasn’t by chance.  He didn’t just happen to come across her.  He knew exactly where she would be and when.  He brought her back to Elton knowing that half the force was out in Portsmouth and would be checking along those highways.  You have two officers that claim they just fell asleep at the wheel and can’t remember anything until they woke up hogtied in the bathtub.  You have over a dozen officers and forensic technicians who have been privy to this information, had access to evidence, and in some cases, control of the information that was reported to us.”

“That doesn’t mean any of them are involved with this!”

“But it does mean they need to be investigated!  It seems to me that you would be eager to have your people cleared.  Why would you try to block this?”

“Because Brad and Reggie didn’t do this!  Nic is not a murderer!  You’re wasting your time investigating innocent people when you could be looking at other scenarios.  For instance, the one common thread we have between the DC murders and the Elton ones is one of your own.  Why aren’t you investigating Remick?”

Jordan turned his head at that.  Benson was still organizing his files on his desk and didn’t bother to acknowledge the fight.

“I’ll tell you why,” Gus continued, “it’s because it’s stupid.  Benson isn’t the Angel Slayer even though he knows the most about the case and has links to both ends of it.  You’re not investigating him because it would be a waste of time and resources.  Not to mention just outright idiotic.  The same goes for a large number of my people.  You can rule a lot of them out with simple common sense.”

“And we are working on doing that, Gus, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore any possibilities no matter how much we don’t want to acknowledge them.  Will it make you feel better to know that Dr. Reading is lower down on the list than Martin and Yamamoto?  We’re not doing this arbitrarily.”

“And I am telling you, it is not Brad or Reggie, no matter what kind of sick relationship you’re pretending they have in your head.”

“You know your own people well,” James said.  “I’m not refuting that.  But someone has been fooling you, the Elton PD, and us this entire time.  You can’t ignore that.  You can’t ignore that at the very least there is a leak coming from the Elton PD.”

Gus drew breath to speak, but didn’t say anything.  Jordan could see his mind working furiously to come up with a counterargument.

“And just so you know, Martin and Yamamoto are going to be investigated heavily, but the top spot on our list is actually taken by Officer Mercer.  How well do you know him?”

“Very well,” Gus snapped.  “His father was chief before me.”

“So, he’s been familiar with police procedure all his life then.”

Gus clenched his hand into a fist.  He looked around the room.  “Are you seriously considering Oska Mercer as a prime suspect in the Angel Slayer case?”

No one would meet his eyes.  A silence stretched out around them.  It was broken by a very tentative knock at the door.  Everyone turned to see Oska standing in the doorway, looking pale and drawn.  Gus blanched.

“Oska…did you hear…”  Gus trailed off as it became apparent he had heard everything.

“Um, yeah, I did,” Oska said, voice thin and listless.  “So, this is going to make this really awkward.”

“What?” Ann asked tentatively.

“I, um, I…was leaving to take Bunny to our training site, and I found this on my car’s windshield.”

He raised his hand and held up a white rectangle.  The room went still; hardly anyone dared to breathe.  Jordan glanced at Benson—he looked stricken, his knuckles bloodless as he dug his fingers into his palms.  Nobody moved or spoke.  Unable to take the oppressive tension anymore, Jordan crossed the room and held out his hand.  Oska handed over the note card and Jordan flipped it over, confirming there was a single word written in black marker on it.  He walked over to his desk and dug out the angel summoning book from the box he had packed earlier.  He flipped through the index until he found the name written on the card.

Jordan faced the room and everyone’s eyes were trained on him.

“Sachiel, angel of Thursday.”

 

~~~

 

“Well, I guess this takes Oska off the suspect list,” Jordan said.

“Does it?” Ann asked.  “He could have sent the card to himself for that exact purpose.  We weren’t exactly making it a secret that we were going to start investigating the PD employees.  Besides, it seems awfully convenient that Oska just happened to be parked right where the station’s security cameras have a blind spot so that it’s impossible to see if someone put a card there or not.”

Benson was barely following the conversation.  From the moment he’d seen Oska hold up the note card, he’d been burning hot and then suddenly chilled.  His mind couldn’t stop repeating over and over again that the last two people who had cards and came to them for help had wound up viciously tortured and brutally murdered.

Oska was at his desk working, as far as they knew, because they had been holed up in the office discussing what to do for the last couple of hours.  Oska had been given strict instructions not to leave without informing the agents, and Gus and Russ and been instructed to make sure he obeyed.

“Why don’t we just put him in a cell?” Benson had snapped.

No one had answered him, but no one had reprimanded him either.  It was now unavoidably obvious that Benson had developed an attachment to Officer Mercer, though he hoped everyone but Jordan thought it was just friendship.  If they knew they had been sleeping together, he would get yanked off the case so fast he’d be back in DC before he could protest.  And he was not leaving Oska alone now.  Not after he had been marked.  Though Ann and James still refused to take him off the suspect list, which Benson couldn’t blame them for.  Marking yourself as a victim would be a clever way to slither out of suspicion.  But the fact that it seemed like an obvious move made him wonder if the Angel Slayer would do it—would Oska do it?

Benson covered his eyes and shook his head.  He couldn’t imagine Oska doing any of it.  But maybe he _was_ too close.  Maybe he wouldn’t be willing to see what was right in front of his face because he had feelings for the man.  Then again, maybe since he knew him so well, he was right to believe he was innocent.

“So what do we do?” James asked.  “It seems like we can kill two birds with one stone: we need to keep him protected and we need to interview him.  If he stays at the station, we can ask his whereabouts on the days of the murders and then keep him in custody while we vet his alibis—if he has any.  That way he’ll be safe if he isn’t our guy—and inactive if he is.”

“Unless he knows he’s going to get caught now,” Ann said, “and he plans to commit suicide on Thursday.”

“He’s not going to kill himself,” Benson said, glaring at her.

Ann didn’t respond with anger.  She just dropped her eyes to the floor.  “It’s a possibility, Benson.”

“Either way, we agree that keeping him here is the best course of action,” James said.  Then he growled in frustration.  “So what do we do?” he repeated.  “Do we keep our operation here or continue with plans to move to Portsmouth?”

“We could take Oska with us to Portsmouth,” Jordan said.

“Yeah because the last time we tried to get a target out of Elton worked so well,” Benson grumbled.

“Well, we would travel with him this time, of course.”

“Maybe it would be best to stay here,” James said.  “Especially since we have some folks who are coming down from Boston to assist us.”

“You mean take over for us,” Ann muttered.

“Assist,” James said firmly.  “And honestly it wouldn’t hurt to have fresh eyes on the case.”

“Is it alright with you if I ask Oska some questions, James?”

Benson almost surprised himself when he spoke, but James didn’t seem to think it was an odd request.

“Sure.”  Benson started to stand up.  “I’ll go with you.”

Benson only paused for a moment, but he had been hoping to talk one on one with him.  He didn’t think James was coming along with the direct intention of keeping them from having a private conversation.  Well, probably not.

“So, should we unpack?” Ann asked.  “The moving team is slated to be here in another hour or so.  They said they would leave Portsmouth around one o’clock.”

“Try to get a hold of them and tell them to postpone the trip until Friday.  We’ll decide whether to continue our operations here or to relocate to the RA after we get through Thursday.  Benson.”

James nodded his head and Benson followed him out of the office.  They found Oska at his desk doing his best to ignore the whispers surrounding him.  Russ was sitting with him, hopefully keeping him company and not just staring at him so he wouldn’t just suddenly disappear or something.  Russ nodded to them when they approached.

“Officer Mercer, would you come with Agent Remick and myself and answer some questions?”

Oska put down the pen he had been using to doodle cartoon dogs on a notepad with.  “Of course.”

He stood up and directed James to the hallway with the interview rooms.  Russ stood up and put a hand on Benson’s arm to make him stay back.

“Hey, look, I know things are—God, is it impossible for me to continue working the case?  This fucker has threatened one of our own.”

Benson couldn’t lift his head it felt like such a heavy weight was hanging from it.  “One of our own _is_ this fucker,” he said miserably.

Russ shook his head.  “Look, I know I was onboard with the idea last night—but—in the light of day it’s ridiculous.  None of us could do this.  I mean.  We’re more than just coworkers or a team—we’re all family here.  And this guy has targeted—”

“I know, Russ,” Benson cut him off.  “The whole idea is sickening.  But, someone has to be feeding him information at the very least.”

“Maybe it’s not intentional.  Maybe this person doesn’t know.  Maybe they’re just sharing details of their day over dinner or something.”

“I’d like to believe that too, but we can’t just ignore evidence because we don’t like it.”

“Well, if you’re not ignoring evidence, why is Oska still under suspicion?  He’s a target now!”

“Maybe.  What if he sent the card to himself?”

Russ looked shocked.  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“We have to be open to all possibilities.”

Russ’ jaw flapped for a moment and then his eyes hardened.  “If you’re staying open to all possibilities, shouldn’t you be interviewing me?  Aren’t I still on your list?” he asked harshly.

Benson gave him a wan smile.  “Yeah, you are.  We’ll probably be along to question you before too long.  I would use this time to firm up your alibis.”

“That’s not funny, Benson.”

“I’m not laughing, Russ.”

Benson gave Russ’ arm a pat and walked away.  He found Oska and James sitting in interview room one.  He shut the door behind him and took a seat next to James.  Oska sat across from them in the center of the table.  He had his fingers laced together and his hands resting on the table.  He waited expectantly—not volunteering any information.  Smart man.

“Well, Officer Mercer,” James began, “I just want to get some information from you regarding where you were on certain dates.  Try to recall to the best of your knowledge and it would be best if you could provide us with the name of someone who would be able to corroborate your statement.”

Oska nodded.

“Do you recall your whereabouts from September 10th to 12th?”

Oska stiffened.  “I was on duty those days working nights.  I was in the station all night on the tenth and I made an arrest on the eleventh.  I’m recorded as the booking officer on that day.  The 12th I’m not sure of.  That day is a little hazy because I was notified of my sister’s murder.”

James nodded and wrote these details down in the notepad he’d produced from his coat’s breast pocket.

“And where were you during the days?”

“At my house.  Alone.  Either sleeping or watching TV.  On the eleventh I went for a run from approximately 2:00 to 4:00.  I passed a neighbor on one of the trails.  He might recall seeing me since we don’t often cross paths on that trail.”

“Can I get a name?”

Oska told him and let his eyes slide over to Benson while James wrote in his book.  They continued in the same vein through all the dates of every murder.  Unfortunately after his sister’s murder, Oska spent a lot of time at home alone where no one saw him or could vouch for him.  But, a good chunk of that time was also spent at work where he had plenty of witnesses.  When he wasn’t out on patrol by himself.  Benson made a mental note to gather the GPS data from the secretaries.  At the very least they could corroborate the placement of the K9 vehicle with Oska’s memories.  Of course, just because the car was there didn’t mean the officer was.

“Now, one thing I need to ask you about in particular,” James said.  He’d been asking all the questions.  Benson hadn’t said a word.  “You were seen at the Lakeside Motor Lodge on the night of one of the murders.”  Oska’s eyes whipped to Benson and then back to James’s face.  His fingers tightened slightly, but otherwise he kept his composure.  “What were you doing there?”

“I guess this was night before Hernandez was found, correct?”

Benson’s eyes widened and James looked up sharply.  Oska immediately realized he’d said something wrong, but stayed quiet.

“Actually I was referring to the night Marissa Mueller was found at the Lakeside Motor Lodge.  Were you there multiple nights?”

“Oh.  Um.”

“Don’t start lying now, son.  Both Benson and Jordan saw you there.”

Oska looked at Benson.  He knew that Jordan had only _seen_ him on one of those nights.  But James seemed to be under the impression that Jordan had seen him in person both nights.  Benson gave a slight shake of his head with the message, _Don’t lie_.

“Honestly, sir, I’ve been to the Lakeside Motor Lodge several nights since Agent Remick and Agent Szustakowski’s arrival.”

“Is that so?”  James shifted and Benson could tell he just barely refrained from looking at him.

“Yes, sir.  The first time I was helping Bens—Agent Remick –”

“Son, don’t try to fool me with any formality bullshit.”

Oska slumped a little.  Not in defeat, it actually looked a little like relief.

“I was helping Benson with the research material he gathered from the Rochester Library.  I had driven him there that night since Jordan and Ann got stuck in traffic on the highway.  A couple weeks after that, I drove Benson to the motel after—we had dinner together.  Jordan had their rental car and I was off duty.  And after that Benson and I shared a few more meals together and I would drop him off afterwards.  I guess two of those nights happened to be nights before bodies were found.”

“And where was Jordan so often?” James demanded, turning his sharp on Benson.

Benson knew he couldn’t throw Jordan under the bus.  And revealing that he was hooking up with Nic wouldn’t be any better than him sleeping with Oska.  But he couldn’t lie.  He couldn’t keep the whole story from an ASAC.  It might hurt the case if any of them weren’t working with full knowledge of what was going on.  But he sure as fuck could stall on the way to getting there.

“Jordan and one of the waitresses at Nell’s—became friendly.  And—”

“That’s enough,” James grunted.  “I don’t need any sordid details.  We could say Oska was a saint for being willing to chauffeur your ass around town while Jordan was chasing tail.”

“That’s not exactly—”

James held up a hand.  “I said I didn’t want to know more.”

“But you can’t let this reflect poorly on Jordan,” Benson said quickly, “He never neglected his duties.  He was never distracted by—”

“Agent Remick, I have been pleased with both your and Jordan’s work.  I don’t think that Jordan having a lady friend in town would jeopardize his judgment or the case.”

“Ye-ah,” Benson sat back in his seat.  He looked up at Oska who was clearly giving him a look that said, _You told me not to lie but now you’re lying by omission_.  Benson shrugged a shoulder at him.

“So, it wasn’t uncommon for Officer Mercer to be seen at the Lakeside Motor Lodge.  The night of Mueller’s death, were you there between the hours of one and five thirty in the morning?”

Benson could tell James was expecting an immediate no, so he looked up when Oska didn’t answer right away.  He was looking up and to the right—remembering, not fabricating—and then he said, “No.  I was not.”

Benson frowned.  That meant Oska had left almost immediately after they’d had sex.  Well, he supposed that meant he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after they'd had sex, so there wasn’t any real reason for Oska to stick around longer.

“Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts between the hours of 1:00 and 5:30am on October 25th?”

Oska shook his head.  "I was at home.  And then I got up early for an extended twelve hour shift.  I was driving to the station when we got a call over the radio requesting all available units to report to the Lakeside Motor Lodge.”

Oska’s eyes flicked to Benson and away, but in that instant Benson had seen the memory of the fear that had gripped him when that call had come.  He’d been terrified something had happened to Benson.  Benson wanted to reach across the table and take his hand, but all he did was shift his weight in his seat to the other ass cheek.  These chairs were ridiculously hard.

“Just a couple more questions, Officer,” James said.  “You are familiar with this case, correct?”

Oska shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but Benson didn’t think it had anything to with being physically uncomfortable.

“I am.  Most of us in the station are.”

“Relax, I just want to make sure my next question makes sense.  Do you know why the Angel Slayer might be targeting you?”

Oska’s brows drew together.  “I don’t under—Oh.  You mean what could be my crime?”

James nodded.

_Don’t look at me_ , Benson thought fervently as Oska spread his hands on the table and kept his eyes on his fingers.

“Well, I guess that would depend on if he ever repeats any of his crimes.”

“He hasn’t so far,” Benson said.

Oska glanced at him briefly and then looked back at James.  “Well, I don’t know all the crimes that have been used.  I know about—Natalia’s—and I saw Hernandez’s body.  I could probably guess at Vanderpool and Mueller’s, but the others I don’t know.  Are they all biblical?”

“Maybe,” James said.  “What do you think would draw the killer’s attention to you?”

Oska shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I sometimes wear shirts that are a cotton/polyester blend.  Doesn’t that violate Leviticus somewhere?”

“Everything violates Leviticus somewhere,” Benson muttered.

“I don’t always pick up after Bunny when I take her on walks.”

Benson let out a small laugh and then frowned at Oska.  He shrugged in return.

“What?  Have _any_ of his kills been for legitimate reasons?”

Benson shook his head, conceding the point.

“Would you be willing to submit a DNA sample?” James asked out of the blue.

There was zero evidence to compare it to, but in theory Oska shouldn’t know that.  James was looking for a reaction.

“Of course.  But, I’m pretty sure I’m already in the database.  All of the Elton PD staff are in there.  It’s a requirement when we join the force, just like providing fingerprints.”

James grunted and scribbled something in his notepad.

“Remick, do you have any additional questions?”

“Where were you in the spring of 2005?”

Oska raised an eyebrow.  Then he looked at the table and thought for a minute.  “Well, that year was the year the earthquake and tsunami happened in the Indian Ocean.  I remember because…”

“You traveled there to help out?”

Oska shrugged and nodded.  “And…that was the only trip I took that year.  So.  I guess I was probably in Elton somewhere.  My ex-wife would remember.  I could contact her—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Oska’s lips twitched and Benson knew he was fighting a smile.

“That’s all I have, James.”

“All right then.  I’m going to make a few phone calls to get some bodies here to help canvass the people you’ve listed as potential alibis, Officer Mercer.  We’d like you stay at the station tonight.”

Oska repressed a sigh.   “I understand.”

James stood up and left the room.  He didn’t wait for Benson and he closed the door behind him.  Maybe it was foolish to believe he didn’t know there was something going on between him and Oska.  He couldn’t be bothered to care about that now and leaned forward and put his hands on the table.  Oska withdrew.

“Oska…”

“What way are you leaning?”

“What?”

“What seems more likely?  I’m a target or a suspect?”

“Are you asking my personal belief or what the team has been discussing?”

“Well, I can’t very well be told what the team is discussing.”

“Oska, I don’t believe it at all.”

Oska looked up, his blue eyes dark with worry and fear.  He sucked in a deep breath.

“Do you mean it?”

Benson tilted his head.  “Of course.  I’m not gonna lie, there’s a lot of circumstantial evidence that points to you as a possibility, so I can’t refuse to allow the team to investigate.  But as far as I’m concerned this fucker has marked my—” he cut off abruptly and Oska’s eyes widened slightly and his lips parted.  “You’re a target of the Angel Slayer, and I swear on my life I will protect you.”

Oska nodded, still staring.  Benson stood up suddenly.

“I’ll stop him.”

“Please do,” Oska said dazedly.

Benson turned for the door, and then growled at the rational part of his brain to shut the fuck up.  He turned around and walked over to Oska.  He leaned down and Oska titled his face up to meet him in a brief kiss.  Then Benson left the interview room.  He checked his watch: 1:00pm.  It was fifty-nine hours until the clock struck midnight on Friday.  There was no guarantee the Angel Slayer couldn’t—or wouldn’t—attempt to kill Oska on any Thursday from now until eternity, but he had a feeling the deadline was this Thursday.  And that the student would not be handling this one despite the target’s gender and lack of hour associated with the angel name.  Going after Oska was a personal vendetta.  He wondered who in the Elton PD had it out for him.  Everyone seemed to like him, though no one seemed particularly close to him.  He hadn’t preempted anyone’s promotion since he’d turned down the chance to become a detective.  As far as he knew he and his K9 dogs hadn’t sniffed out any dirty cops.

“Now there’s a thought,” Benson murmured to himself.  He needed to find out if any police had been fired or dismissed sometime this year—possibly as the result of Oska’s work.  Perhaps the killer had started killing in his hometown because he had a grudge and was unemployed.  Benson hurried through the bullpen to find Gus.

 

**Wednesday, November 20, 2013**

 

“Where do we stand?” James asked, pacing around the small room.  They were still using the office the Elton PD had allotted for them, but it was much more crowded as now there were an additional agent from Ann’s squad and two from the Boston field office.  Jordan couldn’t remember any of their names.  James had introduced them briefly when they first came in the room in the morning and the rest of the day had been spent catching the agents up on the case and the evidence they had.  Which, when it was all laid out at once was simultaneously a lot and yet nothing at all.

The new agents had been asking a lot of questions, mostly ones that they had been asking themselves for over two months now and still had no answers for.  After they finally reached the part involving Tameka’s disappearance and death, the other three agents were convinced that someone in the Elton PD was involved and two were ready to arrest Martin and Yamamoto.  The third argued a strong case for the primary suspect—Oska Mercer.

Jordan had been watching Benson for any sort of reaction, but he’d been withdrawn and tense from the moment they had confirmation that the convoy with Tameka was missing.  Now there was a discussion starting up on sending all the forensic evidence to Quantico to have it reexamined.  Jordan didn’t bother to argue against it, but it would take such a long time before they got any results back—and he doubted they would be any different.  Nic was good at her job and all the technicians were really well trained.  For such a small town, Elton was really up to date with the latest cutting edge technology.  Of course, all it would take is one person to be able to sneak in and change results or swap out samples.  That was an argument against Oska—it seemed more likely that if evidence was being tampered with, a technician was behind it.  The problem was that there barely _was_ any evidence.  Why would the Angel Slayer worry about changing any of it?  None of it led to him anyway.

The agents’ discussion—argument—was disrupted when someone knocked at the door.  Jordan was closest to it so he opened it.  Nic stood outside holding a large manila envelope.

“Hi,” he said, feeling a little better just seeing her.  They had stopped their little trysts together about a week ago, but she made it easy to believe there was still hope no matter how desperate the situation.

“Who is it?” James called out.

Jordan stepped back and opened the door.  Nic stayed outside but leaned in a little to see James.

“Hi.  I know everyone in Elton has been banned from helping, but I thought I should drop this off.  It’s the report from the regional geologic society.  It didn’t come from us.”

“Does this have the information about the crossover between the dirt found on the boot prints and the ash tree bark?” Jordan asked.

“It does.”

"What did it say?"

"I didn't open it," Nic replied with a bright smile.  "Completely un-tampered with evidence."

The new agents didn't seem to understand why everyone else suddenly looked at their toes.  Jordan took the envelope from her.

"Thank you, Nic."

"Sure.  I'll, uh, get out of your way now."

She gave him a friendly smile and then turned and left.  Jordan shut the door and started to open the envelope.  The group began discussing which suspects they wanted to set as the highest priority and whether or not they had any grounds for arresting anyone.  One agent in particular was adamant that they had reasonable suspicion of Martin and Yamamoto to make an arrest and get warrants to search their houses.  Everyone else disagreed and didn't want to reach too far too fast in the event they were wrong.  Jordan listened with one ear and read the report.

At first it was disappointing.  There were no areas where the soil composition and ash trees had any significant crossover.  Then came an analysis of the ash bark which indicated it was a tree common all over New Hampshire and the northeast in general; essentially useless information.  Then there was a blurb on the specific composition of the soil found at the Thompson crime scene.  Though it corresponded with the previous analysis that it was from the Lake Winnipesaukee shore, it further specified that it was Monadnock-Becket-Skerry complex, eight to fifteen percent slopes, very stony—which of course meant fuck all to Jordan.  Except for the fact that it stated only 1.5% of the shoreline in Belknap County was composed of this particular soil.  Also included was a map of that area.

"Hey Benson," Jordan said, not even noticing he was interrupting one of the Boston agents.

"What's up, Jay?"

"Do you remember the name of the street that was Hannigan's home address?  It was something weird, wasn't it?"

"Um.  Hold on."  Benson looked at the floor and his eyes jumped back and forth as he thought.  Jordan wondered if he was actually going through Gilbert Hannigan's statement in his head and reading through the personal information at the top of the page.  His memory was phenomenal.  "Um, Spokies Way."

Jordan slapped the back of his fingers against the paper.  "Guess who lives right in the middle of the tiny section of lake shore that has the exact composition of the soil we found in Thompson's home."

Benson stared at him for long enough that Jordan wondered if maybe he was waiting for him to answer his own guess who question.  Then he suddenly turned to the whiteboard and snatched up a marker.  He wrote at the top of the suspect list, "Gilbert Hannigan."

"I fucking knew it," he said.

"Now, wait, hold on," James said.  "This doesn't prove anything.  There's probably several miles in that area and dozens of people who live there."

"Plus, I thought we agreed that his reaction to Vanderpool's death was too genuine to be faked," Ann said.  "At least I think so.  I talked with him for an hour."

"He's not the teacher," Benson said.  "He's the student.  And Vanderpool was one of his lessons."

"Well, what can we do with this information?" James said.  "It won't get us a warrant."

"No, but we can talk to him," Benson said.  "Believe me, he's not bright.  It we bring up that we did some science and analyzed the dirt we found and knew it was from where he lived, he might crack."

"You seriously think he'll just confess to everything?" the Portsmouth agent asked skeptically.

"Probably not, though it's not impossible.  What I'm willing to bet will happen is that he'll panic.  He doesn't make any of the decisions in this arrangement.  He'll try to contact the teacher.  More than likely he'll go to meet with him.  We can follow him straight to the Angel Slayer."

The new agents looked skeptical as all hell, but the others, the ones that had been working this case with virtually no leads for two and a half months—there was a gleam of hope in everyone's eyes.  It was the closest they'd ever gotten to potentially identifying a suspect.

"This really seems like a long shot," the Portsmouth agent said.

Benson looked at him, keeping his irritation in check better than Jordan would have.  "Do you have any other ideas or plans that we should be working on?"

He put an empty hand in the air.  "Nope."

"Well, then.  Jordan and I will go have a chat with Mr. Hannigan—"

"I want to come too," Ann said.

"I don't know.  We don't want to spook him."

"I thought that was exactly what we wanted to do."

"Not before we can talk with him though.  If he doesn't answer the door we'll get nothing out of him.  And seeing three agents coming to his house—he might think we're there to storm the place or something.  But, what you can do, if you're willing, is set up at a choke point.  That way if he's paying attention when he leaves, he won't see our car following him.  And we can trade off so he won't see one car for too long."

Ann didn't look particularly thrilled with the assignment, but she nodded her head.  "Okay.  But, my car is kind of conspicuous."

"Kind of?" Jordan snorted.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You can take mine," James said.  "I assume you want to leave now?"

"The sooner the better."

"All right.  You three go handle Hannigan.  You other three, you're going to be on interview duty.  We've got several officers and technicians in the station now, and we'll pull them aside and start interviewing them three at a time."

Jordan, Benson, and Ann gathered up their coats and checked their holsters to ensure their guns and handcuffs were secure.

"I want you all to check in every half hour," James ordered on the way out.

"Yes, sir!" all three replied.

They were halfway through the bullpen when Gus approached them.

"We've got a problem," he said, and it brought all three up short.

"It's not a problem," Oska said testily.  He stood with Bunny and Russ a little behind Gus.  "I'm just going home to feed Bunny.  I don't have any more treats here and she needs real food anyway."

Benson looked at him like he'd just sprouted a second head.  "You want to go home?  Alone?"

"Well, I'll be—"

"No fucking way," Benson stated loudly.

Oska looked shocked for a moment, and then his features hardened.  "I won't be gone long and I'll come straight back here.  I—"

Benson cut him off again.  "I'm sure Brendan thought the same thing."

"This is different."

"How?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm a trained police officer with a firearm.  Secondly, I have a trained police dog that would smell or hear an intruder long before he was anywhere near me."

Benson crossed his arms over his chest.  "You're not going anywhere alone, Oska."

"There's not really much you or anyone else can do to stop me."

"We can hold you here—not in protective custody but under reasonable suspicion.  We could also consider you a flight risk."

A couple people sucked in sharp breaths.  Jordan ran a hand over his jaw and looked back and forth between the two glaring men.  He hoped Benson knew what he was doing.

"You've had your twenty-four hours then," Oska stated calmly though his eyes were burning cold.  "Are you going to charge me with anything?  Because if you're not charging me, I'm free to leave at any time."

Benson closed his eyes and said wearily, "Oska, don't."

"Don't what?  I'm talking about a few hours.  Just to let the dog out and feed her and pick up some more supplies if I'm going to have to stay at the station indefinitely."

"And someone else can't go?  No one else can take care of Bunny?"

"Yeah they probably can, but I want to get out of here for a few hours."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Oska looked a little surprised.  "Okay then.  Not that I need your or anyone else's permission."

"I'll go with you."

"What?"

"Benson," Jordan said.  "We've got some place else we need to be."

"You and Ann can handle it."

"But—"

"I don't need a babysitter," Oska growled.

"I could go with him," Russ said.

"Or a police escort!  Are you two serious?"

"Oska!" Benson burst out, utterly exasperated.  " _Two_ people have _died_ while under police protection, and technically, you still are a suspect in the case.  Humor us, will you?"

Benson looked at him with pleading eyes and Jordan felt a little embarrassed watching them stare at each other.  Maybe they no longer did give a fuck who knew their relationship was well beyond the scope of work colleagues or casual acquaintances.

"Fine," Oska relented.  "But you were heading somewhere.  You've got something to work on for the case, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you go do that.  You promised me you would catch my sister's killer.  Do that.  Russ can go with me."

"I still think this is a very bad idea," Gus griped loudly.

"Everybody does," Benson muttered.

"But it's settled, right?" Oska said, clearly still aggravated.  "Russ, do you have everything you need to leave now?"

"Um, just let me swing by my desk to grab my keys.  Don't leave without me," he called over his shoulder and jogged for his office.

"He won't," Benson said darkly, eyes trained on Oska.

Oska's expression wasn't any more pleasant.  Not that it was likely to happen under the current circumstances anyway, but Jordan didn't think Benson was going to be getting laid anytime soon.

Jordan and Gus glanced at each other and then at the floor.  Apparently Benson and Oska were going to stare each other down until Russ returned.  Thankfully the detective didn’t drag his feet.

“Let’s go,” Russ said as he walked in between the two men, breaking their eye contact.

Oska turned to follow him, calling Bunny to heel.  Jordan whispered "hi" to her and she gave a little tail wag, but could sense her master’s temperament well enough not to get out of line.  Jordan turned to Benson.

“You ready to go now?”

Benson’s scowl lasted the entire length of the drive to Hannigan’s residence.  Not even discussing their strategy for talking to him could do much to push Oska from his thoughts.  Jordan hoped he wouldn’t be too distracted to do what he needed to do.

The neighborhood wasn’t exactly run down, but it was rural.  Neighbors had a good bit of trees and land between each other and the driveways were long and unpaved.  They had to circle around the streets for a while until they found an intersection Hannigan would have to pass if he drove out of the area.  Ann was stationed there and Jordan and Benson drove on to his house.  As they pulled up the drive and parked behind the large van marked with the logo of the company Hannigan worked for, they saw movement in one of the windows.

The two agents got out of the car, buttoning their suit coats.  They glanced at each other over the roof.

“I swear to god if he’s running out the backdoor right now,” Benson mumbled as he started toward the door.

Jordan smiled and then bit his lip to get his expression under control as he caught up with him.

“Twenty says he’s already making a swim for it in the lake,” Jordan said.

“You’re on,” Benson replied and held out his fist for Jordan to bump it in a gentleman’s agreement.

They stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door.  They waited about twenty seconds during which time Jordan looked for but didn’t find a doorbell.  Benson knocked again and announced who they were in a loud voice.  They waited; still there was no movement.

“God damn it,” Benson sighed.  “Don’t tell me I’m going to owe you forty bucks now.”

“Sixty.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, twenty for this, twenty for Mueller, and twenty because I knew Oska would come crawling back to you.”

“When did we bet on that?” Benson asked, slightly scandalized.

“Oh.  Maybe that was a bet I made with myself.”

“You can’t collect on…internal bets.”

“Sure I can.  Oska admitting he was a total douche and letting you fuck the bejeezus out of him isn’t worth twenty bucks?”

“Jesus Christ, Jordan.”

“What?  How many times have I told you—those walls are really fucking thin.”

“Put on your headphones then.”

“I—”

The door suddenly opened and they put on their stern, federal agent faces.

“Mr. Hannigan,” Benson said, all business.  “I’m Special Agent Benson Remick and this Special Agent Jordan Szustakowski.”  They both produced their credentials for his inspection.

Hannigan rubbed an arm and his eyes darted back and forth between them.  “Yeah, I remember you.”

“We have just a couple of questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind helping us out.”

“Um, I—” Hannigan paused, clearly caught off guard by the word choice.  “You need my help?”

“Yes.  Would it be possible for us to come inside?”

Hannigan pulled the door tight against his side.  “The place is a mess.  Um.  I can answer a couple of questions, but I was actually on my way out so…”

“This won’t take long at all.”

“I already told you everything I know about what happened to…Sarah.”

“Yes, we have just a couple of follow up questions.  We know you were out of town on the night of the murder.”

Hannigan visibly relaxed a little.

“But when we asked you about the last time you saw Sarah, I don’t believe anyone asked if she was acting strangely.”

Hannigan’s eyes darted around again.  “What do you mean?”

“Did her behavior seem odd to you?” Jordan clarified.  “We’re trying to ascertain if she had any strange encounters before her abduction.  It could help us identify a potential pattern of behavior.”

Jordan saw Benson eye him sideways; that had been a slightly nonsensical conclusion.  But Hannigan didn’t notice—he was just shaking his head.

“No, no, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.  She seemed fine.  Her normal self.  And like I said, I hadn’t seen her for over a week so…”

“Of course,” Benson said, placating him.  “We also needed to know if Sarah had connections to any of the other victims.  Natalia Smith, Davis Thompson, Daniel Hernandez—”

Hannigan flinched at Hernandez’s name.  “No.  Why would I know?  I wasn’t that close with her.”

“Well, that’s not exactly true, is it?  You had quite an intimate relationship with her.”

“But that doesn’t mean I knew her friends or whatever.”

Hannigan was getting agitated.

“Fair enough.”

“You know, I really do have to go—”

“Just one more thing, Mr. Hannigan,” Jordan said, giving his best I’m a perfectly harmless puppy smile.  “Then we’ll let you go.”

Those were the magic words.  Hannigan nodded.

“You see, we found some soil at one of the crime scenes and we had it analyzed.  It is a very unique composition and specific to a certain area—to this area in fact.”

Hannigan tensed again and slid one foot back.  “Is that so?”

“It is,” Benson said.  “And since you lived in the area, we were wondering if you’d noticed any suspicious activity.  Anyone walking along your property, or someone who doesn’t belong in the neighborhood.”

Hannigan relaxed a hair.  “Y-you think the killer has been around here?  That’s—scary,” he said awkwardly.

“It is,” Benson replied gravely.  “Do you know all of your neighbors?  Are there any empty houses around here?  Perhaps gone into foreclosure or only used as vacation homes?”

“No.  All up and down this street are people who have lived here for years.  How big is the area?”

“Pretty small.”

Jordan looked at Hannigan.  He had calmed down considerably.  That wasn’t good.

“Well, I guess that means he must have just passed through, then,” Hannigan said.

Jordan glanced at Benson.  They didn’t want him scared into flight out of the country, but he needed to be a little unnerved.

“Oh, no,” Benson said.  “We found the soil at more than one scene.  He would have to frequent this place.  It seems unfortunate, but we’re probably going to need to investigate everyone on this street.  It may be hard for you to fathom anyone you know doing these things, but how well do any of us really know our neighbors?”

Benson smiled blankly and even Jordan was a little creeped out by it.

“So.  You’ll be around here a lot then.”

“Daily,” Benson replied without missing a beat.  “I hope we’ll be able to count on your help.  If you’ll keep a vigilant eye and let us know if anything seems out of place.”

“Y-yeah.  I-I can do that.”

“Excellent.”  Benson pulled a business card out of his pocket.  “I know you already have Special Agent Russo’s information, but don’t hesitate to contact me if you see or think of anything.”

Hannigan took the card reluctantly.  “Sure.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hannigan.  We won’t hold you up any longer.”

“What?  Oh, right.  I’m, uh.  I have an errand.”

Benson and Jordan smiled at him and then turned around and left the porch.  They heard the door shut behind them.  Jordan was itching to talk but he waited until they were in the car and he had started up the engine.

“Did you see the way he reacted to Hernandez’s name?” Jordan asked as he backed out of the driveway.

“Did you notice his boots?” Benson said.  “John Deere logo on the tongue.”

“Fucking hell,” Jordan muttered.  “I can’t stand leaving him behind.  He’s—I mean he’s—!”

“Whoa, Jordan!”

Jordan braked hard as he almost ran through a stop sign.  Fortunately no one was around.  He remembered to take a left so they could park partially around a bend and wait to see if Hannigan left.

“Sorry,” Jordan said.

“No, it’s okay.  I understand, believe me.  But he’s the small fry here.  If we haul him in, the real killer might bolt.  We’ve got him though.  He’s not going anywhere.  And maybe he’ll take us to where we really need to be.”

Jordan nodded.  He parked the car and turned the engine off.

“How long do you think it will take?”

Benson cocked his head to the side.  “Well, either he’ll leave immediately, or he’ll stew and think about it for a few hours until he can’t stand it anymore.”

“Twenty says he stews.”

“No way.  Of course he’s going to stew.  We’re going to be stuck in this car for hours.”

Jordan laughed.  “Then you might want to crack a window.”

“Why?”

“I had chili for lunch.”

 

~~~

 

Benson ran his thumb over the screen of his phone.  The pad hovered over Oska’s name, and then moved away.  He looked out the windshield and sighed.  They’d been sitting for almost four hours with no movement from Hannigan.  He was about to have to step out and pee in the woods.  He wondered how Ann was holding up.

“Don’t do it,” Jordan said.

“What?”  Benson looked left.  He thought Jordan had been snoozing.

“You’ll just piss him off if he knows you’re checking up on him.”

Benson frowned.  “So?  I’d rather have him mad and alive than screaming for help and no one there to hear him.”

“Russ is there.”

“I know.  Ah ha!  I’ll call Russ.”

Benson scrolled to Russ’ name.  Jordan let out another little sigh.

“What?  You would check up on Nic.  Or Allegria.  Or whoever.”

“Well, that’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because.  They’re…not trained police officers.”

“And they’re women?”

“I did not say that.  I said they weren’t trained police officers.”

“What about Ann?  Would you check on her?  She’s a trained agent.”

“Well…”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But that’s not a fair comparison anyway.  I don’t have that kind of relationship with her.”

“Unh-hunh.”

Benson looked at his phone.  Russ’ number was glowing back at him.

“Do you think you would?” Benson asked to distract himself from touching the screen.

“Would I what?”

“Want that kind of relationship with Ann?”

Benson could see a blush spread over Jordan’s cheeks even in the fading evening light.

“What?  Why would you even ask that?”

Benson shrugged.  “I don’t know.  You two get along really well.  And you flirt all the time.”

Jordan shook his head.  “We do not.”

“Sure you do.  It’s not the way you flirt with Nic and Allegria, when you’re trying to be suave and clever.  It’s more like…playground antics.  Slapping and shoving at each other.”

“We do not—”  Jordan stopped and looked like he was thinking very hard.  “Do we?”

“Lil’ bit.”

“Well—”

Benson’s hand shot out and slapped Jordan’s chest.

“Ow!  What—”

He cut off as he caught sight of Hannigan’s van rumbling down the road.  The dusk and the distance was enough to hide them and Benson quickly called Ann.

“Russo.”

“Ann, it’s us.  Hannigan just left in his vehicle.  White van with Elton Heating and Cooling written on the sides.  The first three numbers of the license plate are three zero five.”

“I’ve got him.  He’s at the intersection now.  I’ll give him a few car lengths and then follow.”

“We’ll be behind you.  Stay on the phone.  Let us know if he takes any main roads that have parallels.”

Jordan started the car and pulled out onto the road while Benson unfolded the map of New Hampshire the rental car company had given them.  It wasn’t quite detailed enough of Elton to be particularly useful, but hopefully it would keep them from taking a completely wrong turn into a dead end neighborhood.

“Okay, I’ve got him on Graff.  He’s not heading back into downtown Elton.  It seems like he’s heading further out.”

“Any cars between you and him?”

“One.”

“Good.  Do your best to—Jordan turn here—to keep at least one or even two cars between you.  If you get on a rural road and no one else is around give him a lot of room.  And keep your lights off for as long as possible."

“Got it.  He’s turning onto East Side Road, following the lake.”

“Okay.  Jordan, right up there, take that to get on 28.  Don’t drive too fast though or we’ll get ahead of them.”

They rode for several minutes in silence and Benson wished Ann would update where they were, but he assumed they must still be on East Side Road.

“Okay, the road is coming up on a T-section.”

“That’s 28,” Benson murmured.  “We’re close.  Slow down Jordan.”

The car behind them honked and drove around them.  They slowed at a yellow light at the intersection of East Side and 28.  There was fortunately one other safety conscious driver on the road as he braked for the yellow light too.  The light turned red.

“I see him Ann.  He’s the first at the light, right?”

“Yes.  But I lost my cover.  I’m right behind him.”

“Okay.  Is he turning left?”

“No signal, but he’s in that lane—and yes, there he goes left.”

“If you can, turn right so he won’t think you’re a tail.  We can pick him up from here.”

“Okay.”

“Make a U-turn when you can and try to catch up.”

“Got it.”

They watched the van drive off down the road and Benson clenched the map in his hands.  This shouldn’t be a long light, but it felt like forever.  At last it changed to green and they inched forward behind the cautious driver.  Jordan changed lanes and sped up.

“Do you think he’ll recognize our car?” Jordan asked.

“Maybe.  But it is pretty dark now.”

“Should I turn on my lights?  It might be suspicious if we leave them off.”

Benson noticed another car from the opposite direction with their lights still off.  “No, not yet.  Give it a little bit longer.”

They caught sight of the van and there was a grey Toyota behind him.  Jordan changed lanes and got behind the Toyota.  They drove another couple of miles.

“Hey guys,” Ann said over the phone.  “I just reached a point I can turn around.  I’m heading back your way.”

“We’re still on 28—”

“No, look, there he goes.  He’s turning onto—can you read that sign?”

Benson read the street sign as they followed Hannigan.  Jordan stayed back because they had lost their cover.

“Fuck,” Benson said.

“What?  What is it?”

“Ann, he turned onto Little Rock Run.  Did you get that name?”

“Little Rock Run.  Got it.”

“Benson, what’s the matter?” Jordan pressed.

Benson rubbed his forehead and tried to tamp down the nausea that was slowly starting spread through his whole body.

“We’re heading towards Oska’s house.”

Jordan stared at him for long enough that Benson worried they were going to drift off the road, but he didn’t try to get him to pay attention to his driving.  Part of him didn’t want to make it to their destination.  Of course there were still a few roads between here and there Hannigan could turn onto, but he was pretty sure he knew where they were being led.  Jordan faced forward again and reached out to turn on the lights, but then stopped.  The neighborhood was secluded enough that a car following him through a few turns might scare Hannigan off.

“Hang back, hang back,” Benson said as Hannigan made the turn onto Oska’s cul-de-sac.  “We’ll be trapped in there behind him.  Give him time to park if necessary.”

“Should we…call Gus?  Or James?”

“Not yet.”

“Benson.”

“Not yet.  We don’t know what he’s doing here.  Hell, he could be here to go after Oska.  He is the next target after all.”

"Then why—"

Jordan stopped talking and Benson really wondered what he'd been going to say.  Then from around the bend they could see that the van's lights cut out.  Jordan pulled onto the street, but didn't drive to the end.  He parked the car and he and Benson sprang from their seats, running silently down the sidewalk, hands drawn up by their right hips.  A dog started barking.

"Is that Bunny?" Jordan asked.

"I don't know."

"It sounds like it's outside."

"He has a fence in the backyard.  She could be trapped there."

They rounded the bend of the street and saw that Hannigan at least had enough sense not to park in Oska's driveway, but the van was along the curb only one house away.

"Which one is Oska's?" Jordan asked as they ran out into the middle of the cul-de-sac.

But Benson didn't answer.  He burst into a sprint when he saw the door to Oska's house wide open.  He heard Jordan pick up speed behind him and trusted him to follow.  They ran up the driveway and into the house.

"What the fuck—?" Jordan said.

"What, what?" Benson asked, turning around, looking for—he didn't even know.

"What the hell is this place?"

Benson turned to look at Jordan.  "Can we look at the foyer later?"

"Why is there a salmon colored bunny in a dress on the left and a boar's head on the right?"

"Not the time, Jordan!"

Though Benson did have to glance inside the living room—he hadn't noticed the bunny before.  It was creepy as fuck.  He'd have to talk to Oska about "staging" when it came to trying to sell this place.

Shouting broke out somewhere in the house.  The barking got more intense, but definitely was not inside the house.  Jordan and Benson took off through the foyer, plunging into the darkness of the tunnel under the stairs.  Two voices shouted warnings at each other.  Jordan and Benson burst into the kitchen, temporarily blinded by the sudden bright light.  Two gunshots fired.

Both agents had their guns out and up, not even sure where they needed to be pointing them.  In the kitchen, Russ stood with his weapon drawn in a two armed stance.  Partially behind the island, a body lay on the floor, but Benson could recognize him by the back of his head.

"Oska!"

Benson dashed forward and slid to his knees next to Oska.  He dropped his gun to the floor and turned Oska over, looking for a wound.

"Watch his head!" someone said.

"Oska!"

"Benson!"

Benson looked up and saw Russ standing beside him, shaking visibly.  "His head.  He hit him on the head."

Benson followed where his hand was pointing and saw a frying pan on the floor a couple feet away.  Benson pulled Oska's head and shoulders into his lap and ran his hands through his hair.  Almost immediately he found a knot on the back of his head.  He pulled his fingers back: no blood.  That could be good, or it could just mean the pressure was building up in his skull and damaging his brain.

"We need an ambulance!  What happened?!"

"G-Gilbert...Hannigan came in.  He attacked Oska.  I don't think he even knew I was here."

Benson turned and saw across the kitchen near the dining area another body on the floor.  Jordan knelt beside it, checking for a pulse.  He looked up.

"He's dead," Jordan reported.

Benson stared in shock for a moment, and then he shouted, "Ambulance!  Jordan, please—"

"I'm on it."  Jordan pulled out his phone and called 911.  "Russ, call Gus and get everyone out here."

"Right," Russ said, looking dazed.  He pulled out his phone and drew in a shaky breath as he tried to steady his hands to make the call.

Benson returned his attention to Oska.  He cradled his shoulders and pulled him closer, running the back of his knuckles down Oska's cheek.

"Come on, baby.  Wake up and let me know you're okay.  I mean, I know you'll have a bitch of headache, but...come on, baby...please."

Benson bowed his head and hugged Oska tightly.  A soft groan made him snap upright.

"Oska?!"

Oska groaned again.  "Not so loud."

"Baby, open your eyes."

"No," Oska whined.

"Oska, please, look at me."

"Wha—who?  Baby?  Benson!" Oska's eyes flew open.  "There's danger!  Don't—!"

"Shh, shh, we got him."

"What?"

"Hannigan.  Did he attack you?"

Oska raised a hand to his head and then winced when he made contact.  "Fucker hit me with something."

"A frying pan."

"A frying pan?  That's—so—who does that?"

"Crazy fucking serial killer, that's who."

"Did you save me?"

Benson let out a small laugh that was almost a sob.  "No, baby.  I wish I'd been here for you."  Oska raised a hand to cup Benson's face.  "Russ saved you."

Oska snatched his hand back and turned his head to look around the room.  He winced at the movement and saw Jordan and Russ standing nearby.  Jordan had already made his call and Russ was just finishing his, having to explain as much as possible to Gus before he was allowed to hang up.

"Well, this is awkward," Oska muttered.

"Who fucking cares?  You're okay.  You need to go to the hospital to get your head—"

"Where's Bunny?  What's wrong with her?"

Only now did Bunny's crazed barking return to his ears.  He could hear her scrabbling at the glass door at the back of the room.  She must have busted through the screen door of the enclosed porch.

"I'll get her," Jordan said.

"Do you want to try sitting up?" Benson asked.

"Um, okay, we can try if we move slowly—wait, wait, nope, nope."

Oska leaned back into his arms and groaned in pain.  He turned into Benson's body and buried his face in his chest.  Benson wrapped his arms around him, careful not to jostle his head.  Jordan came back in and Bunny's nails clicked frantically on the tile floor.  Jordan kept a hold of her collar so she wouldn't jump on Oska, but he brought her close enough that she could snuffle at his cheek.  Oska turned his face toward her.

"Hey, girl," he said weakly.  "Fat lot of good you did as a guard dog."

Bunny merely whined happily at hearing her master's voice.

"Jordan, Benson!"

Ann's voice echoed faintly from the foyer.  Jordan walked toward the hallway.

"In here, Ann," he called out.

Ann ran into the kitchen and looked around.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Oska and I were just talking," Russ said.  "We were going to make shrimp scampi for dinner—"

"So not planning on going back to the station anytime soon then," Benson said disapprovingly.

"Scold me later," Oska mumbled, still turned mostly into Benson's body, hand petting Bunny's head where it rested on his stomach.

"Oska asked me to get a bottle of white wine from the basement to cook the shrimp in.  I was halfway down the stairs when I heard a scuffle.  I ran back upstairs and Hannigan hit Oska on the head.  I drew my weapon and told him to surrender.  He backed up and moved a hand to his waist.  I thought he might have a gun, so I just fired."  Russ closed his eyes.  "He doesn't have a gun, does he?"

"I didn't see one," Jordan said softly.

"Shit," Russ whispered.

"Hey," Benson said sharply.  "You're not going down for shooting that fucker.  I'll plant a gun on him."

"Benson," Oska admonished softly.

"What?" he grumbled.

The faint wail of sirens reached their ears.  The tightness in Benson's chest eased a little.  Help was coming for Oska, but his eyes had slipped closed again.

"Hey, Oz, are you sleepy?  How are you doing?"

"Well, my head hurts, Benson, but other than that my day's been peachy."

"I mean it, you smart ass.  You probably have a concussion.  You need to stay awake."

A smile tugged at the corner of Oska's mouth.  "Well, then keep me awake.  You're good at that."

"Oh!"

Benson looked up and saw Ann staring at them wide-eyed.

"Oh."  She turned to Jordan.  "That explains so much."  Then she noticed Jordan wasn't shocked.  "You knew?"

Jordan smiled and shrugged a shoulder.  Ann frowned at him.  And then punched him on the shoulder.  He shoved her back, and then froze.  He looked at Benson.  Benson raised an eyebrow at him.

A few minutes later the kitchen was filled with EMTs and police.  Cameras were clicking around Hannigan's body.  Oska was loaded onto a gurney and getting his blood pressure checked and his eyes assaulted with a mini flashlight.

"Pupils are even and reactive," one of the EMTs said.

Benson breathed deeply.  That was a good sign and Oska had stayed fully lucid since he'd woken up.  There was a good chance he was going to be okay but they needed to get him to the hospital for an MRI as fast as possible.  Russ had surrendered his weapon to one of the detectives and was giving his statement again.  Benson looked around.

"Where's Gus?" he asked.

Ann wiggled her hand where she held her cell phone to her ear.  "He went straight to a judge to get a warrant for Hannigan's house.  He'll get it signed and meet us there in twenty minutes."

"Great."  He looked at Oska.  The EMTs were unlocking the wheels so they could cart him out of the house.  "Or, can I meet you there later?  I want to go with Oska—"

"Please don't," Oska said.  "You're just going to be sitting in a waiting room going nuts.  Go be productive.  You know you'll feel better doing that."

"I know, but—"

"Benson.  I promise not to die before the next time you see me."

Benson had given his last fuck of caring if people knew about their relationship about half an hour ago, so he threaded his fingers through Oska's hair.

"I'll hold you to that."

Oska nodded, his eyes a brilliant blue in the clean white light of the overhead lamps.  The EMTs began to push the gurney away and Oska reached a hand up at the last moment, their fingers brushing together.  Bunny whined where she was tied up against the island.

"Shit, Bunny—"

"I got her," Russ said.  "I'll pack some food and take her to the station."

"Thank you," Oska said tiredly and finally relaxed against the thin mattress of the gurney.  Benson turned to Ann and tried to focus all his energy and thoughts on the task at hand.

"Okay," Ann said.  "Detective Bates said he will run the investigation here.  If we leave now, we should arrive at Hannigan's at the same time as Gus."

"Okay.  Let's go then.  Jordan?"

Benson turned around and saw Jordan standing behind the kitchen island.  He had his arms crossed and a very serious, pensive look on his face.

"Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah..."  Jordan looked around the kitchen once more, and then moved to follow Ann and Benson out of the house.

Benson holstered his weapon.  He was still feeling very uneasy.  Hannigan was dead—but that was only half their problem.  Their only hope was that there would be a clue to the Angel Slayer's identity in Hannigan's house.

 

**Thursday, November 21, 2013**

 

Jordan sighed and put his hands to the small of his back and arched his back until he heard two pops.  He groaned and straightened, checking his watch on the downward sweep from a large yawn.  It was ten minutes past midnight.  They had been searching Hannigan's home for—geez—seven hours now.  So far they hadn't found anything significant.  An Evidence Recovery Team from the Boston field office had come out and taken away Hannigan's computer and bagged up several articles of clothing that had suspicious stains.

Jordan looked up when he heard feet tromping down the stairs.  Benson appeared, looking remarkably awake and alert.

“Did you find something?” Jordan asked.

“No, why, did you?”

“No.”

“Oh.  So why did you seem so excited?”

“I don’t know.  I guess because you don’t look tired and zombie-like like the rest of us I thought something good had happened.”

“I see.  Well, something good has happened.  We got one half of our murdering duo.  Granted, it’s the weaker half, but I know this place is going to reveal something.”

“You know it?” Jordan asked, trying to sound optimistic as well.

Benson’s jaw clenched as he swallowed thickly.  “It has to, Jay, or…”

Benson never finished his thought.  A commotion broke out in the yard.  Everyone on the main level of the house poured out the backdoor and rushed over to the technician who was waving his flashlight in a far corner of Hannigan’s property.

“What do you have?” Benson asked, being the first to reach him with Jordan only a step behind.

“It’s a storm cellar.  Or an underground bunker.  I found the door underneath this shed; it’s on a track so it can be pushed forward and back.”

Benson smiled.  “Hannigan wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“Is it locked?”

“Yes.  But nothing these bolt cutters from the handy-dandy shed won’t fix.”

The technician grinned and bent over to cut the combination lock off the metal clasp of the hatch door.  In less than thirty seconds the door was open, revealing wooden steps descending into the dark maw of the earth.  The technician started to step down, but Benson stopped him.

“Let me go first,” he said, pulling out his gun.  “Can I use your flashlight?”

“Sure.”

“Jordan, behind me.  Ann, cover the exit.”

Jordan drew his weapon and got another flashlight from one of the nearby ERT members.  He walked two steps behind Benson, gun held pointed down so his flashlight illuminated the stairs for Benson while he kept his gun and flashlight at chest height.  There were about ten steps leading to a dirt floor.  None of them creaked; it must be a fairly new construction.  Benson stepped onto the ground and swung left and right quickly, and then moved further into the space.  Jordan paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking left and right with his flashlight and seeing only dirt walls.

“Clear,” Benson called out.

“Clear,” Jordan called back up the stairs.  Then he shielded his eyes when light filled the room.  A long fluorescent light fixture hung only a couple of inches above Jordan’s head from the ceiling which was reinforced with wooden planks.  The room was only about five feet by seven feet with a narrow path between two shelves that lined the longer walls.  On the shelves were clear jars containing what looked like a piece of tissue suspended in preservative fluid.  Next to each jar was a piece of clothing or jewelry.  The right side had nearly all of its six shelves filled while the left side only had four on the top shelf.  The back wall was plastered with newspaper clippings with anything pertaining to the Angel Slayer case.  Some were old and yellowed from the Washington Post and must have dated back to the original killings.  The obituaries of several victims were scattered throughout the articles.

Benson was examining the shelves on the right side, his eyes sweeping over each item and going down shelf by shelf.

“There’s more than ten,” Benson said.  “A lot more.  He did kill in between DC and Elton.”

Jordan looked at the shelves on the left side.  In one of the jars he saw what looked like a small piece of skin that had a Chinese character tattooed on it.  Brendan had had that mark on his neck.

“I think these must be Hannigan’s shelves,” Jordan said.  “It seems like he was relatively new to the game.”

“Oh my god.”  Jordan and Benson turned see Ann at the bottom of the stairs.  She gathered herself quickly and then said, “Well, at least this makes linking the cases much easier.”

“Can you send down a fingerprint person?” Benson asked.  “I’m not going to hold my breath, but maybe he got careless when handling his trophies.  We need someone to pull prints first and foremost.  And then the rest of us get to bag and catalogue.”

“Party in the serial killer’s creepy underground trophy case,” Jordan murmured.

Benson and Ann smiled at him.

“So, who’s going to make the coffee run?” Benson asked.

 

Six hours later the cellar was photographed and emptied.  Everyone who had been working the scene was dragging their feet and rubbing their eyes like children that had been kept up too late.  Jordan leaned against the Accent with Ann close by while Benson finished talking with the ERT team lead.  It was that strange time of early morning when the sun hasn’t risen yet, but the world is no longer completely dark.  Just off to the east Jordan could make out the first tendrils of sunlight creeping over the horizon.  Benson shook the team lead’s hand and then walked over to the Accent.

“Okay.  So, they’re going to take the evidence over to Portsmouth for processing except for the fingerprints.  They managed to pull some full and partial prints off the jars, so they’re going to take those to the Elton PD facilities in order to process them right away.  Then we can run them through the system immediately.  I don’t know about you, but I want to be there when they do.”

“Yeah,” Jordan said as Ann said, “I want to be there.”

“Okay.  I’m going to drive to the station now.  Unless you want to swing by the motel to freshen up first.”

“No way,” Ann said grouchily.  “If I don’t get to shower neither do you.”

“You could use my shower,” Jordan offered.

Benson laughed softly to himself and Jordan shot him a look.  He wasn’t sure if Ann noticed or not, but she didn’t respond to it.  She just said, “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t stand to put dirty underwear back on after I get clean.”

“You can wash them in the sink,” Benson said.

“What?”

“Yeah.  Haven’t you had lost luggage before?  Just wash them in the sink.”

“And how long do you think it will take them to dry?”

“That’s true,” Jordan said.  “The Lakeside Motor Lodge is not that fancy.  It didn’t come with blow dryers.”

“I think you just have to request one,” Benson said.

“Benson, stop defending that hell hole.  If we ever TDY together again, _I’m_ picking the motel.”

Benson laughed.  “Fair enough.  Shall we?”  He indicated the car.

“Can I catch a ride with you guys?” Ann asked.  “I left James’s car behind at Oska’s.  I hope someone brought it back to the station for him.”

The ride back to the station wasn’t that long, but Ann did manage to fall asleep in the passenger seat and Benson was halfway there in the backseat.  Jordan wondered why he hadn’t made Benson drive.

The trio shuffled into the station and were suddenly wide awake as they saw a large group of people in the main lobby, some in the process of leaving the station.  It was the three new agents, James and Gus, and a few other officers.

“What’s happened?” Benson asked.

“We’ve got a situation,” James said.

“Yeah, we’ve got a situation,” one of the Boston agents said.  “We’ve let a fucking serial killer slip through our fingers.”

Jordan felt his jaw drop.  “What are you talking about?”

“That cop!  I told you we should have arrested him and now he’s in the wind.”

“What are you talking about?” Benson said sharply but kept his voice under control.  “What cop?”

“The K9 one!  Oscar Mercer. “

“Why do you think he’s a killer?  He was attacked and hospitalized.”

“Yeah, kind of convenient.  And the only witness wasn’t actually present to see it happen.  And now he’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”  Benson looked at James and Gus.  “What the fuck is going on?”

James took in a deep breath.  “It’s true, son,” James said.  “Officer Mercer checked himself out of the hospital around 3:30am this morning against doctor’s orders.  No one has seen him since and he’s not answering any calls on his cell phone or at home.”

“Can we stop discussing this?” the agent interrupted impatiently.  “He’s already got a three hour head start on us, but maybe he’s still at his house.  Ames and I are going to drive out there with some officers and search the place.”

“How would he even get there?” Benson asked.  “He didn’t have a vehicle.”

“I don’t know, maybe he took a cab or called someone to pick him up.  He could have stolen a car from the hospital parking lot.”

“I think you’re jumping to conclusions here.”

“Maybe,” the officer conceded.  “But I think having him in our custody is better than not, right?”

“Yes, but only because he’s still a target.  Today is Thursday.”

“Look.  All the other cops on our suspect list are present and accounted for.  He’s the only one missing.  ASAC Muff, do I have your permission to leave now to go to the house?”

“Yes, Lawson.  You and Ames check the house.”  The agents and two officers walked quickly out the door.  “Pierson, take an officer with you and go the hospital.  Try to find a witness who saw Officer Mercer leaving and get security to show you any camera footage they have.”

“Yes, sir,” the Portsmouth agent said.  He and another officer left the building.

“Szustakowski, Russo, the two of you are going to stay here and interview his work colleagues and look through his financial records to see if you can identify any other properties he might own and seek temporary sanctuary.”

“But, can we—” Ann started.

“We got a warrant issued an hour ago,” James said.  “There’s also one for an arrest if anyone comes across him.”

“On what grounds?” Benson demanded.  “Since when is it illegal for a person to be missing?”

“On the grounds that he had a fucking arsenal in his wine cellar.  The warrant is actually for illegal possession of weapons to buy us time on finding evidence against him as the Angel Slayer.”

Jordan could tell Benson was about one more accusation away from losing his shit.

“Those guns are probably his father’s!”

“His _deceased_ father’s,” James corrected him.  “And when he didn’t apply for licenses for himself, he was illegally possessing firearms.”

“That’s fucking low, James.”

“Benson, we have got to entertain the possibility that Oska has been playing us all along.  That the fight with Hannigan was staged.  Why else would he just disappear in the middle of the night and not contact anyone?  Did he contact you?”

Benson’s jaw clenched and he shook his head.  Then he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.  When he opened his eyes again he was visibly calmer.  Jordan was amazed by his patience; it actually wasn’t his strongest virtue.

“Okay.  We’ll consider the possibility.  While Ann and Jordan look through his financials, I’ll—”

“You’ll not have anything further to do with this case,” James said.

Everyone’s eyes widened slightly.

“You’re going to go back to the motel and sit tight for now.”

“What?!  Why—?!”

“Because, Agent Remick,” James said gruffly.  “It has come to my _unavoidable_ attention that you and Officer Mercer have been engaging in a less than professional relationship with each other.”  All the color drained from Benson’s face.  “Your judgment has been compromised in this case and quite frankly regardless of how this turns out, I don’t see you escaping this without a formal inquiry into your behavior here.”

Benson struggled to draw air into his lungs.  Jordan felt his chest constrict with sympathy and empathetic pain, and a little unreasonable hatred directed toward James.  James’s features softened.

“Benson, I’m sorry.  But my hands are tied on this.”

Benson nodded.

“Go back to your motel.  We’ll keep you apprised of what’s going on.  I’m giving official permission for you to know since I’m sure these two,” he nodded his head in Jordan and Ann’s direction, “will be doing so anyway.”

Benson maintained eye contact with James for a couple more seconds and then looked away.  He looked to Jordan and Jordan tried to show unfair he thought this all was on his face.  Benson held out his hand and for a moment he thought he was asking for Jordan to take his hand in solidarity.  Then he remembered he had the key to the Accent.  He handed it over and Benson turned and left without a word.

James looked at Ann and Jordan.  “We should be getting an e-mail shortly that will have the information we need to access his records online.  I’ll let you know when it arrives.”

He and Gus walked farther into the station, nodding at Rachel where she sat at her desk.  For once she wasn’t filing or painting her nails; she was biting them.  Jordan cursed softly and then leaned back on the wall.  He cursed again, louder, as he had leaned on the corkboard and its multitude of pushpins.  He turned around and glared at the pictures of happy, smiling people.

“This is so messed up,” Jordan said.  “Oska gets knocked unconscious and that’s proof that he’s a serial killer?”

Ann moved closer so he could see her even as he kept his eyes roaming over the board.

“I mean,” Ann said, “it’s not a solid case, but it is true that there aren’t any witnesses that can corroborate that Hannigan just attacked him.  He could have faked it and tricked Russ into shooting Hannigan.”

“Well, there’s your witness right there, Russ.  He said he heard a scuffle.”

“But, it could have been an act.”

“Okay, well, if Oska could have set up that scenario, the same logic says Russ could have done the same.”

Ann’s brows drew together.  “Do you really suspect Russ?”

“Do you really suspect Oska?”

Ann shrugged and gave a little shake of her head.  “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, me neither.  But here’s the thing.  Think about the layout of that kitchen.  Hannigan had to come in through the hallway that leads to the foyer.  Benson and I weren’t far behind him.  He wouldn’t have had time to go around the back, plus the front door was open.  That means that Hannigan came in the door that is right in between the kitchen and the dining area.  There was a bowl of partly peeled shrimp on the kitchen island.  Oska was standing at the island peeling and deveining shrimp when Hannigan came in, which means he was facing the doorway.  How could Hannigan catch him by surprise?  How could he rush in, get around the other side of the island, grab a frying pan, knock Oska out, and then run back to the other side in the space of time it takes to go up and down half a flight of stairs?

“And Hannigan was found near the table.  He was past the doors leading to the porch and the foyer, which meant after he knocked Oska out, he walked to the far side of the room and trapped himself without a way out.  Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he didn’t know there wasn’t another way out.  Maybe he panicked when he heard Russ coming up the stairs.”

“Yeah, the stairs to the basement that are directly behind the kitchen island.  Oska would have had his back to Russ.  And Hannigan would have come in the room and seen Russ.  If Russ pulled a gun on him, he would have backed up, passing the doors.”

Ann’s eyes jumped around as they looked at his face.

“So…you’re saying Russ orchestrated the whole thing?”

“Maybe.  And now Hannigan is dead.  Russ shot him and tied up that messy, loose end.”

Ann’s eyes lowered as she continued to think.

“And what evidence is there against Oska that doesn’t also fit Russ?” Jordan asked.  “He’s a cop.  Heck, he’s a cop who had much more knowledge and access to the progression of this case than Oska ever did.”

“He’s also the one who was holding the dildo when it got damaged.”

“And he made a big show of turning his attention to another direction when he fell into Benson at the Hernandez scene—nearly destroying the boot print impression in the dirt.”

“He also knew which convoy Tameka would be in.”

“He’s the one who suggested she be in the fourth one—with a minimal detail.”

“Both James and I voted for that too.”

“I know, but he’s the one who planned it.”

Ann put a hand to her head.  “Holy fuck.  Do you think…” she trailed off, unable—or unwilling—to finish her thought.

“I don’t know, Ann.  I mean, it’s certainly no worse than the evidence they’re using to convict Oska.  I just think—” Jordan cut off as a picture caught his eye.  He’d noticed it before on a few occasions because he was familiar with the scene.  It was the tidal basin in DC, surrounded by beautiful pink blossoms on a bright sunny day, with the Jefferson Memorial gleaming white in the background.  Jordan had been down there many times himself when the cherry blossoms were out; it was one of the most beautiful places in DC at that time of year.  He hadn’t recognized the man in the photo before—because he didn’t have a beard.  But now that Jordan looked closer, he knew those dark brown eyes.

Jordan pulled the picture off the board and studied it.  There in the corner was the edge of a banner.  Most of it was cut off, but he could tell the sign proclaimed that is was the National Cherry Blossom Festival with the dates just legible at the end.  The picture was taken in 2005.  Russ had been in DC in the spring of 2005—right in the middle of the DC Angel Slayer murders.

“Rachel!”

Ann started when Jordan ran around her.  Rachel looked up from gnawing off another nail.

“Do you know where Russ is?  Have you seen him?  He said he was going to bring Bunny to the station last night.”

“Yeah, he did,” Rachel confirmed.  Jordan felt a modicum of relief.  “But he left again early this morning.  He said he was going to go check on Oska at the hospital.  He was the one who reported that he’d gone missing.”

Jordan tried to process that.  Was he reading this situation all wrong?

“Rachel, can you look to see where he is?  Please, I know it’s not procedure, but—”

“No, it’s okay.  One moment.”

Rachel accessed her computer and Jordan and Ann fidgeted while she worked.

“Hunh.”

“What?” Jordan asked anxiously.

“His squad car is showing as being here at the station.  Maybe he came back.”

“I’ll go check his office,” Ann said.

“Wait.  Rachel, where is the K9 vehicle?”

Rachel clicked her mouse a couple of times.  She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s showing to be in the general vicinity of King and Pine.  I’m sorry; it doesn’t get more accurate than that.”

“That’s fine,” Jordan said, body tense with fear and adrenaline soaking his brain in nauseating panic.  “I know where he is.  He’s at the Lakeside Motor Lodge.”

“Benson!” Ann said in alarm.

“Ann, get James and Gus, tell them what we’ve found out and show them this.”  He thrust the picture into her hands.  “Make them send a unit out there.  And give me the keys to your car.  I’m going out there now and hopefully Benson isn’t so pissed that he turned off his cell phone.”

Jordan grabbed the keys from Ann’s hand and she darted toward the bullpen, calling out for James.  Jordan had his phone to his ear and prayed as he listened to it ring.

 

~~~

 

Benson took the long way around the back of the motel as he’d been accustomed to do whenever he and Oska came to drop him off at the motel.  They could park at the back of the building, which was close to his room but not visible from the main road, and get in a few more kisses before they parted.  He dragged his hand across his eyes for what had to be the hundredth time on his short trip, but he wasn’t going to let any tears hit his cheeks.  He was certain Oska was innocent, but he couldn’t explain why he’d run.  Or why he hadn’t contacted him.

Benson slowed to crawl as he spotted the Elton Police K9 SUV parked in one of the spaces by the corner of the building.  His first inclination was joy and relief: Oska had come to him.  Then he felt wariness—why had he not called Benson when he’d found that he wasn’t there?  Surely he wasn’t just hanging out by the door.  And he didn’t have a key to get inside.

Benson parked beside Oska’s vehicle and got out.  He put a hand to his weapon to reassure himself and then walked closer to look inside the vehicle.  The driver’s and passenger’s seats were empty.  There appeared to be some bloody gauze on the floor on the passenger side.  He cupped his hands around his eyes to peer in the tinted windows of the backseat.  He saw Bunny lying on her side, unmoving.  He grabbed the handle, but the door was locked.  He knocked on the window, but the dog didn’t respond.

With cold dread filling his stomach, Benson drew his gun and walked carefully to the corner of the building.  He looked around and didn’t see anyone in front of his or Jordan’s doors nor did he see anyone in the parking lot.  To be sure, Benson dropped to his knees to scan underneath the parked vehicles to see if anyone was hiding behind them.  It looked clear.  He edged cautiously closer to his room door.  In his pocket, his cell phone vibrated with an incoming call.  He reached for it, knowing it was probably Jordan and he needed to report seeing Oska’s vehicle.

Then he heard a muffled cry come from inside the room.  All other thoughts were abandoned.  His foot came up of its own accord and slammed into the motel room door.  The cheap lock snapped right out of the wooden frame as it splintered and the door flung open.  Benson stepped forward with his gun up to keep the door from swinging back shut.

Oska was face down on the bed, stripped and bound.  His arms were pulled up at a painful slant with fishing wire attached from the headboard to his wrists; one of his wrists was definitely bent in an awkward position.  The angle of his arms was so severe that his shoulder blades stood out starkly on his back, almost touching.  His mouth was spread wide on a large ball gag and he was blindfolded.  His back was bowed in an extreme curve because his hips were raised from the bed with his knees planted firmly on the mattress directly beneath them.  His legs were splayed wide and held in place with a spreader bar buckled onto his ankles.

All this Benson saw in a split second, and when Russ moved to duck behind Oska’s body Benson just reacted.  He couldn’t fire his weapon without hitting Oska and he didn’t even see the large knife in Russ’ hand.  Not that it would have mattered.  He would have done the same thing.  He lunged into the room and threw himself across the bed and over Oska’s body until he collided with Russ at full force.  His almost instantaneous attack must have caught Russ off guard because he raised his hands to defend himself rather than threaten Oska or attack Benson.

The two men crashed to the floor and Russ lost a hold of his knife immediately, but in the struggle he grabbed Benson’s wrist and slammed his hand into the nightstand, making him grunt with pain and drop the weapon.  Russ got in one punch to his jaw, and it was a hard hit, but Benson barely registered it.  He fought back and used the advantage of being mostly on top to position his knees over Russ’ stomach and dig in.  The man gasped as he lost his breath and Benson punched him.  He grabbed him by his uniform shirt and held him in place as he punched him again and again.  He continued to hit him even after the man went limp under him.  He only stopped because he lost his balance when Russ’ stomach unclenched and his knees wobbled.

Russ’ face was bloody and already swelling, but he was still conscious.  Benson quickly pulled his handcuffs out and closed one around Russ’ left wrist.  He dragged his body over to the heavy dresser that housed the ancient forty pound TV and slipped the second cuff behind one of the legs and secured it on Russ’ right wrist.  His arms were pulled down awkwardly behind him and he wouldn’t be able to generate enough leverage to lift the piece of furniture and slip free.  Benson quickly frisked him, doing his best to ignore the way Russ’ not swollen eye stayed focused on his face, and removed a pocket knife, a lock pick set, and a thin piece of wire with wooden pegs twisted onto the ends—a handmade garrote.

Then Benson quickly stood and retrieved his gun, securing it in the holster and snapping the cover into place.  As he did so he noticed the spread on the desk: a black piece of velvet covered most of the surface and laid upon it were scalpels, knives of all sizes, ice picks, pliers, hammers, mallets, cruel looking metal instruments he didn't have names for, and on the far end was a wide variety of glass, metal, and plastic dildos—some that were much too large to use without resulting in permanent damage and one that had metal spikes lining it.  He felt his stomach lurch and was grateful he hadn't eaten in several hours.  He turned his back on the desk.  He knelt on the bed and Oska flinched and screamed behind the gag when he felt the mattress shift.

“Shh, Oska, it’s me.  It’s Benson.  It’s okay.  I’ve got you.”

Oska stopped trying to move away, though he really couldn’t move anyway, and tilted his head toward Benson’s voice.  Benson didn’t know where to start, but his arms looked to be in the worst shape.  He used the pocket knife he’d taken off Russ to cut the fishing wire holding his wrists up.  He carefully held his arms so that when the tension disappeared the limbs wouldn’t just crash to the bed.  Oska pulled his arms under his chest while Benson unbuckled the gag.  He moaned when the too large ball was pulled free and a large quantity of saliva dribbled onto the sheets.  He let out a small sobbing noise and sucked air in through his mouth, getting a large lungful.  When Benson pulled the blindfold off, he kept his eyes closed and rested his head on the bed and just concentrated on breathing.  Benson wanted to look into his eyes and know that he was okay, but he didn’t want to force him to do anything, so he moved to his feet and unbuckled the spreader bar and let it fall to the floor.  Oska flinched at the sound.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Benson tried to calm him.  “You’re safe.  I’m here.”  Benson was nervous to touch him, but when he put his hands to his legs to help draw them together so he could lie more comfortably on the bed, he didn’t recoil.  Benson sat next to him and rubbed soothing circles on Oska’s back with one hand while he used his phone to call 911 with the other.  When he was assured help was on the way, he hung up and looked at Russ.  He hadn’t moved, and just kept staring.

Benson immediately turned to Oska when he felt him stirring.  He helped the man turn over and sit up, and then pulled him tightly to his chest when Oska leaned into his body.  Benson put a hand to the back of his head, threading his fingers through greasy, sweat soaked hair and felt utterly thankful for the feeling.  His other arm circled him and pulled him even tighter.  Oska winced and made a small sound of protest in the back of his throat.  Benson immediately loosened his hold and pulled back to see if he had done any damage.  The Angel Slayer did like to beat his victims before the more creative torture began.  Benson felt sick at the thought and swallowed back a sudden rush of bile.  Anger flared through him hot and blinding.  He focused his attention on looking at Oska’s body just so he wouldn’t turn around and shoot Russ in the face.  Or the balls.

Then his eyes caught on it.  The very first thing the Angel Slayer did to his targets was brand them with their crime.  Directly over Oska’s heart, in letters no bigger than necessary to cross the organ, seared red and black into his skin was a single word: Thief.

Benson lifted a hand and just at the last moment remembered himself and didn’t touch.  He gathered Oska close again, careful this time not to make his chest push together and aggravate the wound.  He placed his chin on top of Oska’s head and murmured more nonsense that was meant to be reassuring but just sounded hollow and obnoxious to his ears.  And then he couldn’t keep it in anymore.  He turned to look at Russ, keeping Oska shielded from his view with his body.

“Why thief?” Benson asked.

Russ wasn’t even surprised that he’d been spoken to.  He’d been watching them unwaveringly, just waiting to be acknowledged.

“Because he’s a thief, Benson.  He stole something very precious.”

Benson clenched his teeth, trying to keep his cool.  “And what was that?”

“Your attention,” Russ said, his tone dangerous.  Benson felt Oska begin to shiver in his arms.  “He took your attention from me.”

Benson let go of Oska and pulled away slightly so he could remove his suit jacket, but Oska leaned into him and began babbling.  An incessant stream of “No, no, don’t leave me,” fell from his lips.  Benson shucked out of his coat quickly and wrapped it around Oska’s shoulders.  Then he pulled the man close again and kissed the top of his head.

“It’s alright, baby.  I won’t leave you.  Help is coming.  I promise you’re safe now.”

“See, he’s still doing it,” Russ said from behind him.

Benson turned a glare on him.

“So needy,” Russ murmured.  “So greedy.  I couldn’t figure out why you gave so much of your attention to him.  He’s not that clever, you know.  He’s not very interesting.  Leads a dull, meaningless life that he tries to pretend isn’t by traveling to see other people who have just suffered the worst moments of their lives.  To make himself feel better about his own pathetic existence.  I just didn’t understand why you were drawn to him.  Until I realized you were fucking him.”  Russ sighed.  “Always with the sex.  So disappointing.  I thought you would be above that, Benson, I really did.”

Benson gnashed his teeth together so he wouldn’t point out all the sick sexual acts he had inflicted on his victims.  He wouldn’t argue with him.

“You’re so beautiful, Benson.  Not your body, I could care less about that, but your mind.  Your reasoning.  Your intelligence.  Your flaws.  Your neurosis.  Your determination.  I saw you once.  In DC.  At the third scene.  God, I almost didn’t leave when I saw you.  I wanted to stay there and have you hunt me down.  It’s all I wanted.  You were perfect.  But, self-preservation is a strong motivator.  And I left you.”

Russ smiled and leaned his head back.  “You have no idea how happy I was to see you in the station that day.”

Benson remembered thinking Russ was hiding an erection the first time he saw him at the station; he had an inkling how happy he'd been.

“You were here.  In my hometown.  Looking for me.  But, I wasn’t going to do anything to make you stay.  No, you had to figure it out on your own.  And you did.  I never doubted you.  You knew it was me.  You _felt_ it was me.  You said so.

“It was glorious, Benson, watching you work.  I didn’t even mind Jordan all that much.  He’s cute, huh?  Like a puppy.  Thought about slitting Ann from throat to cunt a few times.”

Benson tightened his hold on Oska and didn’t respond.  Oska’s trembling had grown worse.  He should make Russ stop talking, but short of letting Oska go and knocking him unconscious he didn’t think anything would work.  And letting go of Oska was not an option.

“Oh, god, I almost got away with it too, you know?  Hubris.  That’s what I thought it was.  I was just going to kill Oska and sink his body in the lake.  His disappearance would all but convict him.  But then, I thought, no, he’s been _marked_.  He has to be done proper.  Self-preservation should be strong enough to overcome hubris.  Like it did in DC.  But I couldn’t let this one go.  And now I know why.  I didn’t care about keeping the Angel Slayer’s record intact— **I just wanted to torture and gut that fucker for taking away what was mine!** ”

Benson leaned forward into Oska, his heart pounding, actually horrified by the scream that had ripped its way from Russ’ throat.  His eyes were wild and he started straining at his restraints.  The bureau tipped forward.  Benson had one moment of paralyzing terror when he just knew Russ was going to get free and kill them both—and then Jordan burst into the room, gun drawn.

“Benson!  Are you okay?  What happened?  Where’s Russ?”

Russ slumped back to the floor and the dresser settled back on its legs.  Benson clutched at Oska’s shoulders and looked at Jordan.  Jordan was torn between keeping his eyes on Russ and his curiosity and concern of Oska’s condition.

“Is he okay?” Jordan asked.

“I-I—” Benson let out a shuddering breath.  He was shaking almost as violently as Oska.  “S-sorry.  You okay, Oz?”

Oska didn’t move at first, but then he shook his head.  Benson felt his heart seize up.

“Jordan, we can’t wait for an ambulance.  Can you stay with Russ while I get Oska to the hospital?”

“Of course—” He stopped talking as sirens began to sound in the distance.  “Wait, that’s not a police cruiser.  That’s an ambulance.  Did you call 911?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.  Then stay here.  It will be best if he’s transported in the ambulance.”

A moment later the ambulance siren became muddled with the wail of police cruisers.  Benson shifted so he could pull the sheet free and wrapped it around Oska’s lower body.

“No, not like that, Benson,” Russ laughed from behind him.  “He was meant to be a present, but not all wrapped up.  Can you imagine it—coming here and finding him in your bed—but fixed up all pretty by me?”

“Shut-up!” Jordan shouted.  "You think if I shoot you in the face anyone is going to give a damn?"

"Benson will.  He's got questions.  Don't you, angel?"

Russ started giggling and then he started laughing.  By the time the ambulance and police arrived he was in hysterics and Benson had picked Oska up in his arms and carried him outside.  He nearly threw up when he had to surrender Oska to the paramedics.  For the second time in twenty-four hours he saw his—his lover—strapped onto a gurney and taken away in an ambulance.

Gus and James were on the scene, looking utterly shell-shocked.  One officer had broken down when he found out about Russ and had to be sedated.  Benson had been given the privilege of making the official arrest.  He and Jordan made him lay face down and then stood on his limbs as they removed the bureau so he wouldn't try to make a break for it or attack them.  It also helped that there were six guns trained on him by very antsy and emotionally distraught Elton police officers.

Once he was on his feet, Benson told him his Miranda rights and tried to ignore the way Russ just kept staring at him.  He led him outside and saw that the other federal agents had been called to the scene.  Lawson, the agent from Boston who had been the most vocal and adamant about Oska's guilt took a step forward.  Benson paused on the way to Gus's squad car.  Lawson looked at him, a distressed expression on his face.  He struggled for a moment to find words, and then looked like he was going to give up.  Finally he said, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Benson nodded.  "You were just doing your job.  You don't need to apologize for that."

Lawson bowed his head.  Benson led Russ over to Gus's vehicle and deposited him into the back of the vehicle.

"You know where to find me, Benson," Russ said, almost dreamily.  "Don't keep me waiting."

Benson slammed the door shut in his face.


	9. The Opposite of Closure

**Friday, November 22, 2013**

 

Benson wrinkled his nose at the strong antiseptic smell of the hospital and read the numbers on the doors as he passed them.  He hadn't been able to see Oska last night because he'd developed a high fever due to the stress his body had undergone and been placed in critical care.  Only family members were allowed to see those patients.  He wondered if anyone cared that this particular patient didn't have any family anymore.

Fortunately his fever had come down overnight and he had been moved to a standard room.  No one would tell Benson the extent of his injuries, so he had no idea what to expect when he reached room 3014.  The door was slightly ajar and it was a private room, but Benson knocked tentatively anyway.  He didn't get a response, so he stood awkwardly outside and glanced up and down the hallway.  He tried knocking a little louder.  This time he heard some sort of vocal noise from inside the room, so he pushed the door open and looked inside.

He didn't know why he'd been expecting Oska to look small and pale and battered; he was still strong and tan and beautiful, though the bags under his eyes were dark and his lips were more chapped than usual.  There was surprisingly little bruising on what skin was visible.  Perhaps Russ had literally just gotten started and not managed to hurt Oska at all.  Then he saw the short cast on Oska's left wrist that covered part of his hand as well.  His eyes scanned up Oska's body, but too much of him was covered by blankets and an ugly sea foam green polka dotted hospital gown for him to get a true assessment of Oska's condition.  There was a small bruise with an inflamed red center on the side of his neck, but other than that he was unmarked.  He looked further up and was met with the stunning clarity of Oska's deep ocean eyes.

He smiled softly.  "Hey, Oz."

Oska looked away from him and Benson felt that sharp stabbing pain in his chest which was an all too familiar sensation when he was around him.  Then he looked back and squirmed up in the bed to sit a little bit higher.

"Hi, Benson."

Benson took a deep breath and considered that to be an invitation to come in.  He walked over to the side of the bed and pulled a chair close.  He sat down on the edge of the chair to be closer to the bed.  Oska watched him the whole time.

"So," Benson said with an apologetic smile, "I'm going to ask the stupid question everybody asks.  How are you feeling?"

Oska laughed softly and Benson felt his spirits lift.  He was thankful Oska could still smile and even laugh.  He had no doubt the psychological wounds would be the worst damage he suffered, but maybe he would come out of this relatively unscathed.

"I'm alright.  A little sore.  I definitely had some muscles stretched and body parts bent in ways they haven't been in years.  In some cases, never had been before.  I think I should actually thank you."

"Yeah?" he asked, tilting his head with a confused smile.

"Yeah.  You definitely got me loose and more flexible these past two months than I had been in, oh, four and a half years."

Benson laughed and then felt a sob welling up.  He covered his eyes with a hand and took in a deep breath to compose himself.  It was only a moment, but he could tell when he looked back up that he hadn't fooled Oska a bit.

"So.  Um."  Benson didn't know how to ask his next question.  "I know it's none of my business, so you don't have to tell me anything at all...I mean, maybe I shouldn't ask—"

"Broken wrist," Oska said.  "He smashed it with a rubber mallet.  I think he was actually aiming for my hand and missed.  It was how he got me to finally wake up.  I think he dosed me with too much Telazol and I was out for a long time.  I don't think he touched me except to strip me and tie me up while I was out.  It's no fun when the victim isn't awake, right?"

Benson shifted in his seat and wanted to reach out and take Oska's hand, but he waited.

"So, I guess I was very lucky that he didn't have a lot of time to work with.  When I first came to, I could tell I was tied spread eagle on a bed, face up, but I was too groggy to understand what was happening.  That's when he smashed my wrist.  It woke me up.  Then he sat on the bed next to me and used a lighter to heat up the metal brand in his hand.  Talked the whole time about how he'd shaped the metal himself.  God does he love the sound of his own voice."

Benson nodded agreement.

"So, then he branded me.  It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would.  I mean, it hurt, but it cauterizes the wound too, so.  But anyway.  Then he told me what it said.  And as he—repositioned—me, he just kept talking about my crime.  On and on about what an obnoxious worm I was for stealing you away from him.  And how I was lower than scum for resorting to sex to do it.  Never mind that it was you who kept coming on to me."

Benson cleared his throat and ducked his head.

"Not that I minded, but still.  And then he just kept talking about how amazing and wonderful you are and blah, blah, blah."

Benson looked up at that and fought the twitch of his lips to form a smile.  Oska was giving him a quirked eyebrow.

"Don't get a big head.  Obsession leads to hyperbole.  And he was— _is_ —obsessed with you.  He kept track of you, you know?  Talked about how he followed your career at the Bureau.  He was angry that you worked counterintelligence for so long."

Benson felt his heart stop momentarily.  Russ had been stalking him for eight years?  What if he'd found out about his family or had done something to them in secret.  He thought about the time his brother's car had been damaged in a hit and run.  And the time his sister had been made uncomfortable by a guy who had kept bothering her at the Starbucks she always went to until she found a new place to get her coffee.  Had that been Russ?

"Anyway.  That was it.  Just positioning me.  Talking about you.  Nothing happened."

Benson opened his mouth and then closed it.  Oska was lying.  But if he didn't want to talk about it yet, he certainly wasn't going to try to force anything out of him.  Oska met his eyes, realized Benson knew he was lying, and then looked away.  An awkward silence fell.

"So," Benson said, clearing his throat yet again.  "How did Russ find you, or..."

Oska laughed bitterly.  "Oh, he was very kind.  Offered me a ride home.  He came by the hospital and—Jesus—he played me like a fucking fiddle.  Fed into my annoyance that I was being babied because of a little knot on the back of my head.  Pointed out how I'd be much more comfortable sleeping in my own bed.  Said Bunny missed me and was outside in the car.  He was clever enough to disappear while I signed myself out of the hospital.  And then we started driving back to Elton.  I wasn't even paying attention that we were heading the wrong way completely.  And then suddenly something stabbed me in the neck.  I had no idea what had happened—it didn't really hurt that much and I went foggy right away.  I heard Bunny barking, but then I slipped under.  And...well."

Oska twisted the worn out cotton blanket in his hand.

"Um.  Ben..."  Oska's voice had grown quite thick and he was suddenly fighting back a wash of tears.  "Where's Bunny?"

Benson put a hand to his mouth and looked away for a moment.  He pulled himself together and reached out and took Oska's hand.

"Um.  Russ drugged her.  But.  He gave her too much."  Oska closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.  "I'm so sorry, Oz.  She didn't make it.  I—"

"Don't," Oska said and pulled his hand away.

Benson looked up, shocked by Oska's sudden withdrawal.

"Don't what?"

"Don't care.  Don't come in here and tell me my dog is dead and try to comfort me.  It's probably best if you just left."

Benson sat back, his mind reeling in denial.  He was hearing things wrong.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand—"

"Benson.  I live here.  You live in DC.  You're not going to give up your job or transfer to frickin' Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  My life is here.  This isn't going to be anything.  It was always going to be temporary.  It was supposed to be impersonal.  Let's not draw it out, okay?  We're not going to do some long distance relationship.  Those never work.  I mean, you weren't thinking that, were you?"

"I—" Benson's brain wasn't functioning properly and he felt an odd pressure in his chest that wasn't making it any easier to absorb Oska' words.  "I hadn't really thought that far ahead," he answered honestly.

"Exactly.  So.  Don't make it worse, okay?  We should just part ways while we can still do it without being—you know, just..."

"Oska, this isn't something we need to talk about now."

"No, it's something we don't need to talk about at all.  I'm not going to try to do some ridiculous back and forth bullshit—" His voice cracked and he had to stop.  His chin quivered and he fought to draw in a breath.  Tears fell silently from Benson's eyes as he watched Oska completely break down.

"I can't, Benson," he said, sobbing and gasping between words.  "I can't...have you and then have it taken away.  I don't _want_ to go through that.  To try and have it all fall apart—and it will—would hurt too much.  I'd rather just not try at all."

"Oska..."

"Please leave.  Don't make me ask again."

Benson withdrew and clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking.  He stood up and felt dizzy, but he forced himself to walk to the door.  He paused at the threshold and said, "If there's ever anything you need, you can always...ask.  Okay?"

He got no response but Oska's muffled crying.  Benson walked into the hallway and quickly located a bathroom.  He shut the door to the single toilet room and ran some water in the sink.  After a minute of splashing cold water on his face, he blotted himself dry with paper towels and then looked at himself in the mirror.  For the life of him he couldn't see anything reflected back.

Benson left the restroom and then left the hospital.  He was more than ready to leave Elton for good.

 

**Wednesday, November 27, 2013**

 

"Morning," Russ said with a bright smile when he was led into the interview room in shackles.  "Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?"

The corrections officer escorting him in chained his wrists to the table and his ankles to the floor.  Then he stood in the corner of the room.

Benson kept his casual pose, leaning back in the chair with his legs crossed, and one wrist resting on the table.  Russ scooted his chair closer to the table.

"Where's your lawyer, Russ?"

"I told him not to come.  I'd prefer if he was gone too," he said with a nod toward the prison guard.  "But, c'est la vie."

"Hm."

"I'm a little upset with you, Benson."

"Are you?" Benson said in a tone that indicated exactly how many fucks, flying or otherwise, he gave about that.

"You haven't been to see me.  I've had a parade of assholes coming in here trying to talk to me like they're my friends.  Trying to scare me.  Trying to flatter me.  Trying to intimidate me.  Morons.  They don't get it.  They don't get me.  Not like you do."

Benson shifted in his seat, but didn't respond.

"You said you'd visit me.  Why didn't you come sooner?"

Benson shrugged a shoulder.  "I don't recall ever telling you I would come see you."

The chains rattled as Russ pulled at both his wrists and his ankles.

"Don't try to play coy.  It's beneath you."

"Apparently you have this perfect ideal of what I am constructed in your head.  Maybe you need to face the reality.  I pee in the shower.  I love Shark Week.  I antagonize serial killers.  I—bang K9 cops for fun while on a job."  Russ inhaled slowly, his eyes turning hard.  "And speaking of that," Benson said leaning forward.  "Why'd you kill the dog, Russ?  I mean, you've decided you're going to waste the tax payers' dollars by actually forcing this thing to go to trial.  How much sympathy will you garner from the jury?  I mean, your daddy didn't hug you when you were a child so you kidnap, torture, rape, and kill people.  Sure, that makes sense.  But dogs?  People don't like it when you hurt animals."  Benson shook his head and tsked at him.

Russ sat back in his chair, looking very annoyed.

_Good_ , Benson thought pettily.

"Believe it or not, the dog was an accident.  I didn't like the mutt, but I wasn't going to kill her.  If for no other reason than it would be strange if both _he_ and the dog went missing and I knew nothing about it when she was in my care.  But after I stabbed _him_ in the neck with the needle, she started attacking me from the backseat.  I almost crashed the car, but fortunately had the Telazol handy.  I was just in a hurry to get her off me so I just drew some up in the syringe and then stuck it in her.  I didn't know how much I had given her."  He shrugged.  "Shit happens, angel."

"Yeah.  Speaking of shit, we're going to figure out who all those jars belong to.  How many states are going to be clamoring for your blood?  Please say Texas.  They always treat serial killers so well."  Benson smiled beatifically at him.

Russ smiled back and leaned forward again.  He reached his hands forward, but was drawn up short by the chains.

"If you can find them, I'll confirm it."

Benson sat back.  "Not interested.  We've got enough on you.  But, something tells me you didn't kill the same after DC.  What changed?"

"I killed differently _before_ DC.  They were all different.  Similar when they were together, but different in different cities."

Benson swallowed and tried not to show a reaction to those words though he felt disgusted, horrified, and involuntarily impressed.

"So.  What made you go back to the angel names?"

"Pure chance.  I was in Natalia's house, just killing time while Gilbert fucked her whore mouth," Benson clenched his hand into a fist under the table, "and I wandered into her basement.  And guess what I found?  A coffin.  It brought on such a nostalgic feeling.  And it made me think of you.  I couldn't help myself.  It was right there.  So, I decided to pull out an oldie but a goodie.  I knew I didn't want to do anything too similar so I needed a more obscure angel name.  I gave Gilbert a little more time and did some research.  I found that book at the library."  Russ laughed and Benson cringed at the sound.  "Why didn't you look at the checkout record for that book, Agent?  Only four people had ever checked it out.  And I was one of them.  You could have wrapped this thing up three kills earlier."

Benson closed his eyes and counted to ten.  He'd known it would be a mistake to come here.  He only felt nauseated around this man.  He opened his eyes.

"So why hide the brand?"

"I always hide the brands.  Those three in DC—I don't know.  I was experimenting.  But I always hid the brands under the tongues.  No one ever looked there.  Not once was it ever reported.  Or if they were found, no one ever linked them together."  Russ reached forward again, but again was stopped by his shackles.  "The crime is the important part, Benson.  It's the only thing that matters."

Benson bobbed his head.  "Okay then.  I guess you're totally right.  They all had it coming."

"They did.  You see it.   You just don't want to admit it.  Or can't admit it aloud in front of other people."

Benson shook his head in disbelief.  "Why do you think you know anything about me?  Wait.  You know what?  Don't answer that.  I don't care."

"You do care."

"I really don't," Benson said as he stood up.

"You'll come see me again," Russ said smugly.

"Well, the next time I see you, it'll be in Virginia."

Russ grinned.  "You're going to bring me closer to you."

"Well, we're submitting paperwork to get you extradited to Virginia.  You see, Russ, while New Hampshire does have the death penalty, they very rarely sentence anyone with it.  And even more rarely carry it out.  Virginia on the other hand—they're a bit more like Texas."

Russ' expression grew dark and Benson smiled unpleasantly at him.

"See you in Virginia, Russ."

Benson started for the door and the prison guard stepped forward to undo Russ' chains.

"You're going to take the death penalty off the table, Benson."

Benson whipped around.  "Am I?  Now, you're so smart, Russ, why the _fuck_ would I do that?"

"Because I won't talk otherwise.  You wanna know what the other cities are, who the others are—I won't say a word if you try to kill me."

"We don't need you for that.  You catalogued everything so well for us.  I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out."

"Not the victims."  Russ' smile made Benson's blood curdle in his veins.  "Do you really think Gilbert was my only disciple?  My first disciple?  I have literally dozens of accomplices out there.  I had three in DC alone."

Benson stared at him and then shook his head.

"You're bluffing."

"Nick Tirro.  He helped me kill his mother.  You investigated him, remember?  But let him go because he had an alibi for Father Dolan.  Just like Gilbert had an alibi for Sarah Vanderpool.  They're all over the country, Benson.  Some of them may have continued my work without me."

Benson ran a hand down his face.  "Fuck," he whispered.

"Take the death penalty off the table.  Bring me close to you.  And we'll talk."

Benson met Russ' eyes and stared him down.  He knew he couldn't break eye contact first, but he also knew Russ wasn't going to lose this.  Finally he looked away.

"We'll talk," is all Benson would concede and walked out the door.

 

**Friday, December 6, 2013**

 

The key turned smoothly in the lock and the door swung open.  Benson stood momentarily surprised.  He'd gotten used to the rusted lock and sticking door of the Lakeside Motor Lodge.  He looked inside his apartment, waiting for a sense of disconnection or like he didn't belong to come over him.  Nothing happened.  He had spent three months away from home, tracking a killer he hadn't been able to forget about for eight years, witnessing acts more heinous than he'd ever been willing to believe a human was capable of...and making a connection with someone who had somehow made the experience bearable only to have his feelings flung back into his face and summarily dismissed.  He felt different.  He didn't think who he was at his core had changed, but his experiences in Elton were something that he would always carry around with him.  He thought that it would be reflected in other aspects of his life.

However, his living room with its blue and grey decor still had two pillows stuck at perfect ninety degree angles in the corners and the TV remote sat squarely on the ottoman.  His bedroom wasn't even musty when he walked in to hang his garment bag in the closet and set his backpack on the queen size bed.  He did notice that the top left corner of his green bedspread was flipped back revealing the striped under side.  He thought it would bother him knowing it had been like that for three months, but he found that he was able to push past that feeling—though he still fixed it before he left the room.

His kitchen looked small and inadequate compared to the only other one he'd been in lately, but it was familiar and everything was in its place.  He opened the refrigerator vaguely remembering that there should be four bottles of Dogfish Head IPA in the door.  It wasn't noon yet, but he really didn't care.

He'd spent two weeks in New Hampshire trying to get Little's extradition papers in order, but the fucking mayor of Elton—who hadn't made a peep the entire time the case had been ongoing—had put up a stink about the citizens of Elton not getting their day in court or some sort of bullshit.  After it pretty much became apparent Little would never receive a fair trial in Elton, Boston had stepped in and tried to make a claim on him, but the state of Massachusetts had no standing since he'd never committed a crime there—as far anyone knew.  It had been a long, obnoxious two weeks, but eventually Benson had won his battle.  It wasn't a done deal yet; he still had some details to hammer out, but he felt confident enough that he would get his extradition so he packed his shit and headed home.  He'd been looking forward to sleeping in his bed on his journey home, but now he wondered if it would even make a difference.

With those maudlin thoughts and a roll of his eyes he picked up a bottle of beer and then reached onto the top shelf to pull out a plastic container.  The lid said it was extra garlic hummus.  He turned it sideways and grimaced at the green and white fur colony that had exploded inside the container.  Well, letting it get to room temperature in the trash wouldn't help anything, so he put it back in the fridge to wait until he knew he'd be taking the garbage out.

Benson walked over to the drawer that housed his bottle opener and saw the base unit for his landline phone blinking on the counter.  The number four blinked at him as he took his first swig of beer.  He didn't think he'd even given this number out to four people.  He pressed the play button and the machine went through its spiel to announce the date and time of his first caller.

"Benny, it's Mom.  I thought you left tomorrow.  But I guess you left today.  I hope you remembered to get someone to come over and water your fichus.  They're hardy, but they still need regular water and sunlight.  Okay, love you.  Don't wait forever to call me back."

Benson took a longer draught of his beer.  What good did leaving a message on his machine after he'd already left do?  Besides, that fichus had disappeared when the live-in girlfriend had.

The machine beeped.  "Benny, it's Mom.  You father needs new underwear.  What was that kind you bought?  Without the tags?"  Benson's brow creased in confusion.   "Oh, wait, Hollis had those.  Never mind.  Love you."

Benson wondered why his mother still knew what kind of underwear his brother wore.  Seemed like someone needed to start doing his own laundry.

"Benny, it's Mom."  Benson laughed and walked away from the machine.  Of course, all four were probably from her.  This message was informing him of a dinner party she was planning with their lovely neighbors the McKennas and that she would wait until he was back to plan it so he could come.  He knew for a fact that his mother didn't particularly like the McKennas, but they did have a single daughter his age who was a doctor and a son who was a little younger who was a lawyer.  He wondered which one would also be showing up to dinner.

_Real subtle, Mom_ , he thought as he waited for the fourth message.

"Hi, I'm trying to reach Benson Remick.  My name is Tyler and I'm calling from the Four Legged Warriors Adoption Program."  Benson turned to look at the machine.  The what?  "You submitted an application to us a little over a year ago expressing an interest in adopting a veteran, and after approval you were placed on the waitlist.  We now have a six year old Weimaraner who returned from a tour in Afghanistan who needs a forever home.  If you're still interested, can you please give us a call back?"

Benson sought out a packet of Post-It notes and a pen to write down the number.  He was a little stunned by the call.  He did remember putting in the application but he never knew it had been approved.  He thought a home inspection was required.  Maybe Lauren had brought them out.  Regardless, now that she was gone, getting a dog was no longer on his list of priorities.  The least he could do though was call the guy back and tell them he wasn't interested in case they were waiting on him.  The message was only two days old.

He called the number and got put on hold a couple of times until he reached the person who had called him.  Before Benson could say anything the man started talking about how wonderful this dog was and how he'd seen quite a few military dogs in his day and this one was something special.  Before Benson could interrupt him, the "but" came that he hadn't even been waiting for.

Apparently this dog was suffering from pretty severe PTSD, but that's why they had selected him because he had experience in law enforcement and training in victim assistance.  Yeah, human victim assistance.  He couldn't imagine there was much crossover in human and dog therapy.  The man was still talking, telling him he didn't have to make a decision over the phone, but he was welcome to drive out to the facility to meet her first.  The man asked if he could make it out today even though he knew Benson was about a two and a half hour drive away.  This would be time to tell him that his situation had changed and he was therefore no longer interested, but he found himself agreeing to drive out and meet her first before making a decision.

Even though Benson had just spent over an hour in a car, two hours on a plane, and forty-five minutes in a taxi cab, he found himself getting ready for a two and a half hour drive out to the fucking countryside.  He hadn't even unpacked yet or picked up his mail from the post office, but at least this trip would help him to assess if over three months of inactivity had done any damage to his personal vehicle.  Classic cars were beautiful, but they couldn't just sit around for long stretches of time and still be expected to function properly.  He forgot to take the hummus mold out of the fridge when he left.

 

The "facility" was actually the large acreage of some guy's backyard.  There was a lot of open space for the dogs to run around in and a portion of the yard not too far from the house had been sectioned into large kennels.  Benson was greeted by Tyler and as he shook his hand he knew he should just tell him that he couldn't take in a dog after all, but then he figured he had driven all the way out here so he might as well see it.  Tyler was excited, but also a little nervous.

"Is something wrong?" Benson asked him, too tired to try to find a less direct way to ask his question.

"N-no.  Not really.  Well, kind of.  We've had Charlie for about six months now.  She was a bomb sniffer in Afghanistan for three years.  It was a long time to be there, but her handler stayed that long and she seemed well suited to the task.  Then one day her unit was hit with a roadside bomb.  She was thrown from the vehicle, but she'd been wearing body armor and came out relatively unharmed, physically.  But her handler died.  And the blast terrified her.  She's suffering from severe posttraumatic stress disorder and is nervous around people, especially crowds, and loud noises scare her.  She's not a good companion dog for households with children.  And lot of the people who were on the waitlist were willing to come out and meet her, but she's just so withdrawn and shy that no one's wanted to take her in."

Benson looked at Tyler blankly.

"I'm not trying to guilt you into taking her.  She is a special case and would need a lot of attention and special care.  It won't be easy.  I just want you to know up front what you'd be getting yourself into.  That's all."

"Okay, I understand."

This was a good thing.  Now he could say no and it wouldn't come off like someone who had simply changed his mind about adopting a dog and would just be another in a long line of people who didn't want to deal with a traumatized animal.

When they reached her kennel, Benson didn't even see her at first.  Then he noticed the scrunched up ball of silver-grey fur in the far corner of the four by eight foot cage.  Tyler opened the door and let Benson step inside.  He shut the door behind him, but didn't lock it.

"I'll give you a few minutes.  Here." He handed him a brown squishy ball with a less than pleasant odor through the chain links.  "That's her favorite treat.  Or at least it's the one thing she'll always eat."

"Thanks," Benson said, way past the point of wondering why he as even here.

He took a step toward the dog and she scrunched up even tighter and whined softly—frightened.  Benson sighed and stepped back.  What the hell was he supposed to do?  He stared at the dog that stared warily back at him.  Then he sat down on the ground, not concerned with getting his jeans or T-shirt dirty, and leaned against one of the fence walls, stretching his feet out.  He could just barely get his legs straight with his feet flat against the other side.  He glanced at the dog and then looked forward.

"I kinda sorta know how you feel," Benson said.  "Never been blown up, but, wanting to curl up and hide?  Make everything go away?  That's a feeling I can relate to.  And maybe I shouldn't.  I've never had anything truly terrible happen to me.  I've just been there to see the worst things inflicted on other people.  So, really, what right do I have to be upset by it?  It didn't happen to me.  I'm fine.  I'm perfectly fucking fine."

He glanced at the dog.  She hadn't moved, but perhaps one ear was canted forward a little.

"Sorry.  I cuss a lot.  Bad habit."  He looked away from the dog again.  "I have a lot of bad habits.  You'd probably hate living with me.  Or maybe you'd only like me temporarily in an impersonal capacity."  He slumped back against the fence and ignored how the metal dug into his skin.  "Do I sound bitter?" he asked the dog.  "I am.  It's pathetic.  I think this is actually what a broken heart feels like.  No wonder I never tried to get close to anybody.  This sucks."

Benson was rambling, he knew he was, but he couldn't stop talking.  He wasn't even sure what he was talking about most of the time.  He talked a little about his family and a little about his work.  And he knew every now and then the mention of a blue-eyed asshole slipped in.  It felt good to say some of his problems out loud; to actually hear them said.  Perhaps there was some credence to the whole psychiatry bullshit after all.  Not that he thought he needed a shrink.  Maybe he should get another fichus.  The last one had been an excellent listener.

Benson realized he must have been talking for some time, but Tyler hadn't come back yet.  He checked his watch but didn't note the time.  How long would be long enough for him to be able to just say he tried but he didn't think it was going to work out so he could leave?  He glanced at the dog again and raised his eyebrows in surprise.  She'd left her corner and was now a couple of feet away, laying down with her chin on her paws, watching him.  For a moment he thought the dog liked him, and then he remembered the treat in his hand.

"Oh, you just want this, huh?" he asked her.  He held out the ball of—whatever—and she slowly inched forward on her belly.  When she got close enough he lowered the treat so she could take it.  He let her finish chewing before he stretched out a hand for her to sniff.  Then he gingerly petted the very top of her head with just his fingers.  The slightest movement of her tail was the only indication that she was okay with the contact.

"That's amazing."

Benson turned and looked up to see Tyler standing at the kennel door.

"She's never come up to anyone on her own before.  I think this is a good match."

"You think so?" Benson murmured, wondering how he could break the bad news to Tyler that he wasn't going to take her.

He contemplated how to say it all through signing paperwork and listening to instructions on how to deal with a PTSD dog while she was traumatized further when she was given a bath.  He wondered if there was a certain etiquette behind backing out of an adoption application as he helped load a large dog bed and a starter bag of food with a couple of food and water bowls into his trunk.  He wondered if he was going to have to get home before he admitted to himself that he'd just adopted a fricken dog as he took the leash from Tyler.  Charlie was hunched and shivering from all the activity, her tail tucked between her legs, but at least she wasn't trying to get away.

"That's a...unique car," Tyler said.  "What is it?"

"It's a '67 Chevy Impala.  My father took me to a salvage yard to pick out a car to work on and fix up on my fourteenth birthday.  I had my heart set on a '65 Mustang—orange with black markings.  And for some reason—I saw this and just—fell in love."

Tyler nodded but Benson could tell he didn't get it.

"Well, it does have a wide back seat, but I don't think I'll be able to get the crate in there.  At least not without damaging something."

"I don't need the crate."

"A lot of dogs find them comforting, especially when their owners are away at work for long hours."

"I'm not going to use a crate.  I just need the blanket."

Tyler shrugged and retrieved a soft, thick blanket to lay on the backseat.  Benson led Charlie to the car and wondered how he was going to get her inside without freaking her out, but then she hopped right in.  Benson shut the door behind her and then shook Tyler's hand.

"Not to be pessimistic, but if it turns out she's too much to take on, you can always bring her back here."  Benson nodded and Tyler smiled.  "But, for someone reason, I don't think I'm ever going to see Charlie again."

Benson grunted in response and got into his car.  He started the engine and began the long drive back to DC.  He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Charlie lying down, but shivering as she kept her eyes on him.

"Don't worry.  I won't fuck this up," he said.  "I kind of know someone who might know a thing or two about dogs."  He glanced back at her again.  "Don't judge.  I'm not using you as an excuse to talk to him."

Benson leaned an arm on the side of the door and laughed softly to himself as he concentrated on his driving.  He hadn't just adopted a military dog for the sole purpose of having an excuse to contact Oska, had he?  He laughed sadly and looked in his rearview mirror to see Charlie still watching him.

"I wish this was the most pathetic thing I've done in my life.  But it's really not."

 

**Friday, December 13, 2013**

 

Benson navigated to his personal e-mail account on the Internet as he tried to tune out the staticky drone of elevator music buzzing in his ear.  He was still dealing with the bureaucratic bullshit that accompanied getting Little extradited and he really wished the New Hampshire State Attorney's Office had more than one song to play when putting people on hold.

Benson logged into his e-mail and tried not to be disappointed as he saw that his only new e-mail was a forwarded post from his mother full pictures of amazing sculptures carved out of fruits and vegetables.  It had been one week since he'd sent his e-mail to Oska, and he hadn't even received a token link to some website that might have advice for him.

He thought back to the message he had sent.  Had it been too desperate?  Too pathetic?  Perhaps it had been too casual.  Too aloof.  He'd spent three hours writing and rewriting that damn e-mail.  Then he'd finally realized that rather than trying to justify contacting him with questions about the dog, he should just admit that he wanted to know how he was doing first.  And then ask about the dog.

He'd tried to keep it short, but he filled in Charlie's back story and told a little bit about their first night together.  It hadn't gone well.  An ambulance had gone by on the street outside and Charlie had huddled petrified in a corner and peed on the floor.  He was pretty certain he'd made a mistake taking her in.  She kept her distance from him and cringed when he tried to pet her.  She would do her business as soon as they stepped out on the sidewalk in front of his apartment and then would shrink down and refuse to budge and go for a proper walk.  He actually really did need help with her.

But Oska hadn't responded.  The first day he thought that maybe Oska just hadn't checked his e-mail yet.  The second he wondered if maybe Oska was trying to figure out what to say to him.  The third day he'd panicked and wondered if Oska had pushed him away because he'd known something had been damaged so badly that he was actually dying as he lay in the hospital bed and had expired shortly after.  He'd nearly called Gus to ask after him, but then he'd overheard Jordan talking on the phone to Ann and wondering if it was a good thing Oska had already returned to work.  So, not dead and not incapacitated.  Three days later Benson realized he needed to accept that he was being ignored or perhaps no response _was_ the message Oska wanted to send.  He had been pretty clear at the hospital; Benson should accept his decision.  Didn't mean it didn't hurt like a bitch though.

"Agent Remick?"

"Yes?" Benson returned his attention to the phone and closed the browser on the monitor.

"I can confirm that the Attorney General did sign the extradition order."

"That's good to hear."

"Yes.  So, as soon as we get it notarized and copied, we can fax it to the necessary parties and arrangements can be made for transportation."

"Fantastic.  Do you think you could get that fax out tonight?"

"Well, our notary has actually gone home already.  But, we'll be sure to get it done first thing next week."

Benson closed his eyes and counted to five.  "Great," he said, hoping he didn't sound too manic.  "I appreciate all your help."

"Anytime."

"Unh-hunh."

Benson hung up.

"Fuckers."

He looked at the time.  It was barely past 4:30.  Well, if the notary for the New Hampshire State Attorney's Office could go home this early, so could he.  He logged off his computers and put his winter coat on over his polo shirt and jeans.  Casual Fridays were awesome.  He unzipped his gym bag and took a sniff.  It could probably go another week.  He zipped it closed and dropped it on the floor taking only his briefcase with him.  The briefcase he'd only started carrying so as to always have Little's paperwork on hand should he ever need to find a nearby fax machine in case something went missing.

Before leaving he walked to the other side of his cubicle to say goodnight to Jordan.  He saw his squad mate—and now, good friend—sitting back in his chair and talking to a woman with long dark hair.

"Oh, hey, Jay.  I don't want to disturb you, I just want to say—" Benson stopped talking when the woman turned around.  He broke out into a smile.  "Ann!"

"Hi, Benson."

Benson took a step forward, but then paused.  They hadn't hugged when they'd said goodbye in Portsmouth, but then she took the two steps necessary to get close enough to hug him.  He laughed at his own awkwardness and she smiled at him.

"It's good to see you.  What are you doing here?"

"TDY at headquarters."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I heard it's good for your career."

"Though not your health," Benson laughed.  "Good luck with that."

She shrugged a shoulder.  "It's only ninety days.  So, maybe it won't be too bad."

"Well, we'll have to go out some time.  In fact, the buildings are close enough we could meet for lunch."

"I would like that."

"Ann is also considering transferring down here," Jordan said.

Benson flicked his eyes to Jordan's grin and then looked back at Ann.  "Is that so?  What spurred that decision?"

Ann shrugged.  "I don't know.  I just think a change would be nice.  And you two seemed to think that the mid Atlantic is the be all and end all of places to live.  I thought I'd check it out."

"Well, that's great.  We'll definitely have to arrange a trip to the museums and the monuments to lure you in."

Ann laughed.  "There are probably other things that would make me want to stay more."

Benson gave a slight nod of his head and tried not to laugh out loud.

"Okay then.  I guess I'll leave one of those other things to work his magic then."

Ann tilted her head and then followed Benson's eye line back to Jordan.  She stiffened.

"That's not—I meant like the climate and the career opportunities!"

"Oh.  Of course.  Well, if you have the time on Monday, we'll have to show you the best places to get lunch around here."

She crossed her arms and gave him a little glare.  "I'd like that."

"Okay."

Benson looked at Jordan again and he put his hands out in an "I don't know" gesture behind Ann's back.

"Well, goodnight," Benson said.

"What, you're leaving?  It's not even five o'clock," Jordan accused good-naturedly.

"Yeah, well, I've got some under the table comp time from the work we did up north."

"Are you just going to go home?" Ann asked.  "Jordan and I were going to grab something to eat later.  Would you like to meet us?"

"I would, but I've got to go home and feed Charlie and work on getting her not to pee in front of my building door."

Ann tilted her head in question.

"Right.  I got a dog.  She's an army veteran and is having some troubles adjusting to civilian life I guess.  It's a work in progress."

"That's really nice."

"Yeah."

Benson could see that Ann was dying to ask if he'd asked for any help of the dark-haired, blue-eyed, gorgeous variety, but she refrained.

"Goodnight, Benson," Jordan said.  "We'll see you Monday."

"Yeah.  See you then."

Benson left the office and felt a little improvement in his mood.  He was happy for his friend.  Granted there was no guarantee anything would come of Ann's TDY, but at the very least it would be fun to rag on Jordan and tease him mercilessly for the next three months.

Charlie didn't greet him at the door when he got home.  She never did.  And it took a full fifteen minutes to coax her from her bed in the corner of the living room even though he knew she needed to relieve herself after being inside for over eight hours.  She refused to go more than three feet past the door to the hydrant and did double duty quickly.  She pulled on the leash to go back inside as Benson struggled to bag up her business and drop it off in a curbside garbage can.

"Alright, alright," Benson grumbled, letting her pull him inside and away from the moderately noisy street traffic outside his building.  It was cold enough that he didn't even want to try getting her to walk a little.  As soon as the leash was off her collar, she darted for her bed and curled up on it.  Benson gave her a scoop of dry food in her bowl, but she didn't show the least interest in it.  Maybe he could get her to eat a treat or he could try bribing her with some wet food.  She liked wet food enough that he could usually get a hand on her and pet her while she was eating.

He was getting a can out of the pantry when there was a knock at his door.  He raised his eyebrow in curiosity as he made his way across the kitchen.  It wasn't impossible to get into his building without a key, but generally people buzzed his apartment in order to be let in.  Perhaps it was the building manager coming to tell him he couldn't have a dog.  Wouldn't that be awkward?  He looked through the peep hole and couldn't see much as the person had his head bowed down.  Well, he was an FBI agent.  He wasn't really afraid of home invasions.

Benson opened the door and Oska looked up at him.  They stared at each other.  For a really long time.  Even Benson thought it was a bit excessive for what the drama of the situation warranted.  After he considered if he should say hi or kiss him and then slap him, he settled on doing what he really wanted to do.  He reached out and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him forward into a bone crushing embrace.  Oska hugged him back, arms going high around his shoulders, almost around his neck.  Benson bent his head and put his lips on Oska's T-shirt where shoulder met neck.  He inhaled deeply and immediately felt high with the sweet masculine scent that was uniquely Oska.  And cinnamon.  Of course, just a hint of cinnamon.

"Hey, Oska," he said, words muffled by Oska' body.

"Hey, Benson.  I got your e-mail."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  I tried to answer it a couple of times, but then just figured it would be easier to explain things in person."

"I see."

They were quiet for a few more moments, not ready to let go of each other.  Benson wanted to know what this meant, what was going through Oska’s mind.  If he still felt as hopeless about their situation as he had that day in the hospital.  But he couldn't ask.  He didn't want to know that Oska really had come just to help with Charlie and then he was planning on leaving.  He didn't want to have to tell Oska he was going to tie him up and lock him in the closet because considering recent events that would just be in poor taste.

Benson opened his eyes.  Behind Oska in the hallway were two rolling suitcases, a large duffle bag, and a backpack.  He pulled back and felt Oska very reluctantly let him go.  He nodded his head indicating the bags in the hall and smiled at Oska and his messy hair and his annoyed expression at being let go.

"You planning on staying a while, Oz?"

"Yep," he said, almost defiantly.

Benson laughed.  "I can get behind that."

Oska tried to hide his shaky sigh of relief.  "I'm glad to hear that.  Frankly, I was expecting a door in my face."

Benson reached a hand up and brushed his knuckles down Oska's cheek.  The man sighed and closed his eyes at the touch.  He opened them again when Benson dropped his hand back to his side.

"What changed?" Benson asked.

Oska licked his lips.  "Nothing.  I just realized I'm _not_ the kind of person who would rather not try something because I'm afraid it might not work.  I would much rather try and fail than to give up what I want."

Benson nodded and felt a little perverse satisfaction in watching Oska shift nervously under his mild gaze.

"This would be the part when you say something cheesy like, 'We're not gonna fail, Oz.'  Right?"

Benson let him squirm a little longer, and then he grinned and leaned forward.  He stopped just short of kissing him and loved the small gasp Oska made when their lips brushed together.

"We're not gonna fail, Oz."

Oska surged forward and kissed him hard, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him close.  Benson let his hands slide slowly around his waist, letting Oska have complete control of the kiss.  At one point Oska began talking in the kiss, and Benson thought he may have been apologizing for something, but he certainly didn't have enough cognitive ability at the moment to understand any of it.  He was aware enough to feel Oska's hands sliding over his shoulders, down his back, and over his hips.  He moaned softly into the kiss, sliding his own hands down to grab Oska's ass.

Then Oska stopped kissing him and pulled back.  Benson opened his eyes and could feel the frown tugging at his lips.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked petulantly, but Oska wasn't looking at him.

"Hey," Oska said softly, sweetly, looking down.  "You must be Charlie."

Benson looked down and saw that Charlie had left her safe corner and had come over to see Oska.  He gently petted the backs of his fingers on the top of her head.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me.  She only lets me pet her if I feed her," Benson grumbled.

Oska smiled and leaned into Benson's warmth, keeping up the gentle, soothing movement of his hand on Charlie's head.  Benson wrapped his arms around Oska and rubbed his back.  He settled his cheek on the top of Oska's head and tried not to be jealous of a dog.

 

**Saturday, December 14, 2013**

 

Benson opened his eyes.

Across the room he saw that IKEA dresser with its slant to the left.  He really needed to get rid of that stupid thing.  Then his chest tightened.  He realized the only reason he could see the dresser was because of the wide open expanse of mattress in front of him.  Had he dreamed Oska had come to him yesterday?  Had Oska decided he'd made a mistake and left him?  He turned and sat up, and promptly heard a grunt and a thump as something hit the floor.  Benson turned to investigate and saw Oska scowling at him from an undignified position beside the bed.

"Jesus, Benson, why didn't you just tell me you prefer the left side of the bed?"

Benson laughed, never having been so happy to see a naked man sprawled on the carpet.  He reached a hand down and helped Oska back up onto the mattress, sliding over just enough to give him room to sit on the bed, but forcing them to remain pressed tightly together.  Benson immediately began kissing and sucking on the spot just below his left ear.  Oska hummed in the back of his throat and threaded his fingers through Benson's hair to hold him in place.  Hands began to roam and their legs entwined, seeking to bring their awakening groins together.  Oska turned and pushed his hands flat on Benson's chest, making him lie flat.  He stayed above him for a moment, just looking at him, and Benson dropped his eyes, feeling almost shy.  His gaze landed on Oska's chest.

Benson raised a hand and traced the mostly healed brand over his heart.  He'd ignored it last night, but in the light of day he couldn't pretend it wasn't there.  It had just passed the scabbing phase and the reddish-pink marks were fading into white.  Benson could feel the raised texture of the skin as he ran his finger over it.  This was his fault.  If he had gone with Oska to the hospital the first time, Russ would never have gotten him.

"Hey," Oska said softly, catching Benson's finger in his hand.  "We might never have caught Russ otherwise."

Benson frowned at him.  He didn't like nor did he believe in mind readers.

"It's okay," Oska said, leaning down.  "I'm okay."

He kissed Benson's lips lightly, and then kissed a trail over his chin and down his throat.

"Wait a sec, Oz."

"What?"  Oska murmured around a mouthful of Benson's neck.

"There's something we need to talk about."

Oska immediately stopped what he was doing and sat up.  He gave Benson his full attention.  Well, mostly.  His right hand was circling a finger around and around his hip bone.

"What is it?"

"You should know something up front about me.  I kind of told you before, but I've never really been in a serious relationship.  The closest I came was a ten month relationship.  I don't know what came over me, but I asked her to move in with me after only dating for six months.  And four months later we broke up.  I don't—trust people easily.  And I don't open up to them.  And I don't want to let them in because I'm afraid I'll just get hurt.  There's a reason for it.  A bad experience I had when I was younger, but that's a story for another time."

Oska nodded solemnly.

"The point is, I don't move fast and I put 'walls up,'" he said, rolling his eyes at the term his last girlfriend had used.  "I've been accused of intentionally keeping people guessing at what my true feelings for them are.  I guess because it keeps them at a distance.  I like distance."

Oska took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I understand.  I can get my own place.  And I'm sure I can find a hotel to keep my stuff in tonight..."  Oska trailed off and cocked his head as he looked at Benson's expression.  "But, that's not why you're telling me all this, is it?"

"No.  I just need you to understand what I'm like."

"Okay."

"So that you understand what it means when I say I love you."

Oska's jaw dropped.  And then he snapped it closed.

"I'm in love with you, Oska.  And I can't even contemplate living the rest of my life without you in it."

Oska stared.

"I needed you to know how serious I am.  So that you can make a decision about staying with me based on knowing that for me this isn't a 'let's date and see how things go' thing.  This is it—no, this is everything for me."

Oska only looked slightly scared for a moment longer.  Then he smiled and combed his fingers through Benson's hair.

"Okay.  Sounds perfect."

Benson blinked, startled.  He hadn't known what he'd been expecting after that ill-planned speech, but this wasn't it.

"I quit my job.  Just closed on my parents' house.  I've moved everything I own—or least wanted to keep—down here.  Got a ticket for speeding in a red car down 95 and couldn't use professional courtesy to get out of it since I don't have my badge anymore.  So...I came here with the expectation that you would be everything I needed to start over.  Which, is not quite as romantic a declaration as yours was, but I don't want to date you either.  I just want to be with you.  And I'm crossing my fingers that you're not a Steelers fan because that would be a deal breaker."

"Redskins."

Oska made a sympathetic face.  "Well, that's just embarrassing.  But I guess I can live with that."

He started to lean down to kiss him but Benson put a hand to his face and pushed him back.

"Did you leave the Charger parked outside on the street?"

"Yeah.  It said there was no parking limit on the weekends."

Benson groaned.  "Man, you have got to learn how to respect that car.  That is my deal breaker."

"Okay.  I'll make you a deal.  You can have the fucking car if you will just shut up and kiss me."

"Okay."

Oska leaned down and Benson pushed his face away again.

"Wait."

"Fuck, what?"

"How did you sell the house so fast?"

"Benson, seriously?"

"But—"

"It was already on the market.  I'd turned down the last offer.  And after everything happened, I asked the realtor to call them and see if they were still interested.  They were.  We expedited the appraisal and the home inspection by doing an 'as is' sale.  Three weeks and done.  I was starting to get worried about where I would stay since everything was moving so quickly and I would have to move out almost immediately, but then I got your e-mail and figured I was set."

"What?  So you weren't really nervous at all that I would turn you away?"

Oska smiled cheekily.  "No, not really."

"Liar."

Oska shrugged a shoulder.  "Moot point now.  So.  Can we kiss?  And hopefully hump our way to an orgasm if not outright fuck before breakfast?"

"So, you just came down here, homeless and jobless and just expected that I would take care of everything?"

"Uh...yeah.  Though you're clearly not taking care of _everything_."  He rubbed his erection against Benson's thigh.

"I'm not going to be your sugar daddy.  I don't want a kept man."

"So, I'll find a job.  Pretty sure Washington, DC has a police department."

Benson made a face.  "Ooo, you don't want to work for the MPD."

"Well, then what's a better option?  Should I look in Virginia or Maryland?"

Benson's eyes lit up.  Oska sat back a little.

"Oh, god, what?"

"We got an e-mail the other day telling us they were going to open up agent applications again in the next month or so.  Even with the budget cuts they still have to fill a certain number of positions.  I'm sure you'd have a shot.  A good shot even.  You've got pull with someone on the inside."  He smiled lewdly and rubbed his thigh against Oska's erection.

Oska laughed and leaned down, holding Benson's hands to the bed so he could get his kiss.  Despite the arousal simmering just under their skin, they kept the kisses slow and lazy, tongues entwining playfully.  Oska moved to settle more fully on top of him, so Benson took what he knew would be his last opportunity for lucid thought for a while to say, "So, will you apply?  To be an agent?"

Oska brushed his fingers down Benson's cheek reverently, and then bent down to kiss him.

"We'll see."


	10. Glossary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written in 2012/2013. While the terms below are still accurate some of the FBI/law enforcement practices and procedures depicted in the story are outdated. Some have been deliberately modified.

**ADIC –** Assistant Director in Charge; oversees an entire field office, only found in extra large field offices: DC, LA, New York, Miami, and Chicago—and yes, it's not said letter by letter, it's said the way it's spelled

**ASAC –** Assistant Special Agent in Charge; oversees a group of squads—and yes, it's not said letter by letter, it's said the way it's spelled

**CR-2** – Divisions are given two letter designations, Criminal = CR, Counterterrorism = CT, Cyber = CY, Counterintelligence = CI, Intelligence = ID   The number is merely a counter and not specific to any particular country or threat or investigation

**DNI** – Director of National Intelligence; a presidential appointee in charge of overseeing the sixteen agencies of the United States Intelligence Community (USIC)

**EC** – Electronic Communication; official reports

**EEO** – Equal Employment Opportunity

**ERT** – Evidence Recovery Team

**IA** – Intelligence Analyst

**IO** – Intelligence Officer; a spy

**OPR** – Office of Professional Responsibility; basically if you do something stupid enough that it requires a formal inquiry; also covers complaints of discrimination and harassment

**OST** – Operations Support Technician; fancy term for secretary

**PNG** – Persona Non Grata; the political term used for kicking someone with diplomatic immunity out of the country

**RA** – Resident Agency; a branch of the FBI underneath a larger Field Office

**SA** – Special Agent

**SAC** – Special Agent in Charge; oversees the field office or resident agency of assignment except in extra large field offices: DC, LA, New York, Miami, and Chicago in which case they oversee one division; this one, oddly enough, is spelled out when spoken aloud unlike ASAC and ADIC

**SSA** – Supervisory Special Agent; in charge of a squad of agents and analysts

**TDY** – Temporary Duty (Assignment); short or long-term but temporary assignment to a different office/division

**WFO** – Washington Field Office; not to be confused with HQ (headquarters) which is also located in DC


End file.
